


Turn Me Twice

by CaffeinatedThoughts



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Basic Spy Stuff, Dark Past, Espionage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gang Violence, Gunshots, Implied Drug Use, Medical References/Discussion, Mentions of Blood in Context of Injuries, Mentions of Blood/Murder in Context of Case Work, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Mafia/Organized Crime Gropus, Mentions of Murder, Organized Crime, Reader's POV, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid - Freeform, Spencer's POV, Violence, Vulgar Language, abductions, firearms, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedThoughts/pseuds/CaffeinatedThoughts
Summary: Reader is trying to move on and leave her past life of espionage behind her. But old habits die hard. (Slow Burn)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 21
Kudos: 60





	1. A Second Chance

They say that every person deserves a second chance. If that’s true, then I am an outlier in this statistic. I never wanted a second chance, not to mention that I’d hardly deserve one either. I just wanted to rid myself of whatever it was that caused my first chance to turn sour. Or at least, I’d like to understand what it was that led me down this path in life. The path that brought me right behind the barrel of a gun. Maybe if I understood I’d be able to lead myself back. 

Sometimes I wonder if there were forks along Life’s road that I just somehow managed to overlook. Or maybe they were kept hidden from me, covered by moss and overgrown shrubs. Either way, I fear that I am too far gone. Too far lost in this path, and to turn back now would mean to lose my sense of self entirely.

A bead of sweat starts to fall from my forehead, and pulls me out of my thoughts. I just pray that it doesn’t drip into my eye. I can’t risk moving from my position to wipe it off, I have to concentrate. So, putting aside whatever irrelevant tangent I was thinking about, I grip the barrel of my gun tighter, hoping that a breeze, or gust of wind, or something will cause that small drop to make a detour before it rolls down into my eye, ultimately obstructing my view. 

I wonder if ordinary people already follow Life’s set path for them too, complying in their walk without stopping to question their footsteps. Or if it’s just me that hasn’t found a detour down another, less hazardous trail to follow. 

I catch sight of the time on my watch and my mind refocuses on the task at hand. I just want to get it over with so I can get home and get some real rest, a rest where I can actually lie down instead of having to spend it propping myself up on my elbows behind a rifle, waiting for our target to arrive. 

_3 minutes late._

Well, that’s odd. We profiled that the target was organized, controlled, timely… apparently not.

“What’re you so fidgety for? Give the guy a break, 3 minutes is nothing.” My partner. He was also given a second chance. But unlike me, he wanted to be here. 

“You want to tell him that? ‘Oh excuse me sir, you were 3 minutes late to your assassination so now our asses are on the line’. If he doesn’t show up soon, they’ll have our heads. Literally.”

“Our heads? Thought you just said asses.”

“You know what I mean. And anyway, your ass is your head.”

I wonder what it was that I did in life, specifically, that made me end up _here_. Out of all the possible outcomes, Fate had to intervene and bring me here. It’s not often that Vory members find themselves wanting an out from this life, whatever ‘this life’ even is. Nearly 10 years in and I still don’t understand it completely. I guess my wanting an out just provides further statistical proof that I am an outlier in this game of Life. 

Where is this guy? My arms are falling asleep from having to support all my weight on my elbows for the past 30 hours. If he doesn’t come around soon, I don’t think I’ll be able to pull the trigger with how dead my wrists feel. I try to shift my weight in attempt to bring circulation back into my wrists. It doesn’t help, they’re still asleep. 

“Would you calm down, I can practically hear your thoughts. It’s distracting.”

“You cannot.” 

“Your fidgeting is the loudest thing about you. I can most definitely hear your thoughts.”

“I think something is wrong, there’s no way he’s not on time unless something is wrong.”

“Calm down. It’s only been 10 minutes.”

“I’m telling you, 10 minutes is a lot for this guy. Something’s gotta be up.”

“Just shut up and do your job, so we can go home. I’m tired.” Well golly gee, aren’t we all?

This moron with a gun next to me isn’t thinking straight. His brain must be falling asleep. There’s no way a guy like this would be this late, going somewhere he goes everyday, taking the same route day after day, rarely straying from routine. Something has got to be up. _There he is._

“Target spotted. Heading east at 3 miles per hour. Take the shot when he hangs up the cell.”

“Take the shot? We can’t take the shot now it’s too late. Our orders were-“

“Too late my ass, we’re taking the shot.” 

I bring my hand to his arm, hoping he will actually listen to me this time and lower the rifle. “Are you stupid? Our orders were explicit, If the target’s delayed wait him out to see what he does instead of firing! He could be meeting with one of the others.”

“Get your hands off me! I don’t follow orders from you. Others or not, I’m taking the shot.”

Before I can try to stop him, I feel a strong stinging sensation in my shoulder, and my whole body goes numb. When I manage to glance down, I see what looks like a small red pencil sticking out from that same place in my shoulder. Before I can even fully process what’s happening, I try to take it out, but my whole arm is numb and I can’t move. It’s a tranquilizer dart. The realization hit me too late, there’s nothing I can do about it now. 

I look over to see my idiot partner slumped over, no doubt already completely out. At least this way he won’t be able to take the shot now. 

That’s the last thing I see before my vision fades to black. 

* * *

**_Spencer’s POV_ **

I have a bet going on with Morgan to see how long it takes before we get another case. We haven’t had a new case for a while now, and while the break is refreshing, everyone is getting antsy from having to sit and do so much paperwork from our previous cases. 

“No way Kid, I say they’re up there right now talking about our next case.” He means Hotch and Garcia. They’ve been in his office for at least 30 minutes now, talking about what we both know is our next case. I’d never admit this to Morgan out loud though, I’ve already placed my bet. So, all I can do now is hold out hope that this isn’t another case for the sake of my pride. And wallet. 

“No Morgan, look. Garcia is leaving and she isn’t even headed in our direction. If you were right, she’d be walking here to tell us right now.” That’s a total bluff. But, I think I was pretty convincing. On the small off chance that I wasn’t convincing enough, I try to hide my face behind my second cup of coffee, hoping that Morgan can’t read it from my expression that I already knew that he’d won. 

Something feels strange. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I thought Morgan was right. That this was in fact a case. But there Hotch is, just sitting at his desk, staring straight ahead. He looks like he’s thinking. Huh, maybe I’ll end up winning that bet after all. I’m so focused on trying to discern what Hotch is thinking that I don’t even see Garcia head into the briefing room. 

“Reid, something is off.” JJ and Emily joined us as soon as they heard this. They decided against joining in on our little betting game, assuming that I had already known the answer as to whether this was a case or not ahead of time, and I was just trying to play them. They probably have their own exclusive bet going on the side anyways. 

Even if I could predict when our next case was, I would have never had seen this coming.

Next thing I know is that Hotch is heading down the stairs, over to us. This must be a bad case. Hotch always had a humorless attitude about him, but his body language this time is just down right chilling. 

“Guys, we have a case.” Damn, Morgan won. Usually, Garcia is the one to break the news to us. The fact that Hotch is announcing the case must mean that it’s serious. 

“Well, well. Pay up, Pretty Boy.” 

I cough up the money before we all start heading to the briefing room, taking note of the money that also exchanges hands between JJ and Emily. Well, at least I was right about the side bet. How very petty of them both. I would have expected such from Emily, but JJ? Petty. 

As soon as I walk into the room, I don’t know whether to be relieved or scared. I see that Garcia is sitting at the briefing table, instead of preparing the case like she normally would. That’s weird. If this was an average case, she’d be standing up over by the monitor getting everything ready. This must be more serious than I had originally thought. 

Once everyone sits down, Hotch addresses the question that’s been mulling at the back of my mind since I walked in. “No iPads this time. Everything we do will be on paper.” 

“What’s this about?” I can tell that Morgan isn’t happy about this. There is a whole file cabinet’s worth of papers in front of us. I, on the other hand, am rather pleased at this slight. 

“Earlier today, we got a report of gang murders in Massachusetts.” 

Huh. Judging by the vast amount of papers, this had to be more than just your run of the mill gang violence. “Ok, but we don’t usually get called in for gang related crimes.”

“That’s right. This is different.” As soon as Hotch opens the files, I can see what he meant. You would have thought that there would be more bodies than what was reported based on the amount of blood alone. It was entirely gruesome. Cerberus himself couldn’t have done more damage than this, and he has three heads. I bet even Morgan wishes that I had won that bet now.

“What happened?”

“We think that someone was targeting these gang members in order to draw out the Russian mafia’s American contact.”

“Woah, woah woah Hotch, slow down. You’re saying that all these murders were done by one person?”

“At the moment, we don’t have any evidence that points to that. In fact, with this level of violence I’m more inclined to believe that this is a group. And because of the high level of skill and organization presented in these murders, they will no doubt see us coming, hence the reason for doing everything sans wifi.”

Morgan and JJ were stunned silent just by the sheer amount of gore shown in the case files. I would have expected Garcia to have left the room by now. I was surprised that she had chosen to stay here to stomach all of this. She was entirely withdrawn during this conversation, muttering nothing more than “I would hate to have to meet the people who did this,” before turning in her chair to look away from crime scene photos.

Emily, however, continued in the profile as though she was unfazed. “Why do we think the Russian Mafia is involved?” Having studied extensively on the various organized crime groups in Russia, I was more than able to answer this, which Hotch seemed to appreciate.

“Well, the biggest organized crime ring in Russia, is the Bratva, whose name translates to “family”, or more literally, “brotherhood”. Furthermore, the Bratva is said to be one of the most structured organized crime groups throughout all of Europe. The fact that all five victims were killed with extreme precision, and all bore the mafia’s insignia on their upper arms suggest they themselves not only had ties to the Bratva, but were also probably high ranking members of the group, as can be told by the type of symbol and its placement.”

“Extreme precision? Reid, look at this, it’s a mess.” Morgan is having a hard time trying to process that all of this was done by just one person. He hardly looked directly at the photos, always opting to focus his attention on the safety and familiarity that the words in the written reports provided. A boring juxtaposition to the jarring photos, but easier on the eyes nonetheless. 

“An organized mess. I think the blood is just a distraction. Plus, the fact that our Unsub draws attention to the tattoos of each victim suggests they know what each one means. So, they are at least familiar with the Bratva themselves, or have close ties with someone already in the group.”

“Alright, either way, wheels up in 30, we’ll debrief more on the jet. Massachusetts isn’t a long flight from here.”

* * *

The Sandman is dancing on my eyes, and I can feel myself drifting into a cold place. Or is it warm?

I can’t tell. All my surroundings are drifting.

Falling.

My whole body catches itself as I jolt awake, letting the dust fall away from my eyes that the Sandman had left behind. My back pops as I straighten up, my neck is sore, my head is heavy. That was definitely a tranquilizer dart. Why can’t I see anything? I know for a fact my eyes are wide open, but everything is black. To make matters worse, my hands are stuck, and they’re still asleep like they were when I was trying to focus on my target. Except now they’re cold too. 

If I had to guess, I bet was asleep on my own hands. My hands, which are no doubt currently handcuffed to the table in front of me. The more I wriggle around the more my mind starts to clear itself from the daze that dart had brought on. Definitely, handcuffs. I test to see if they work, pulling my wrist against them, as if by some luck maybe whoever did this forgot to lock them.

Yeah, they work. What’s worse is that the handcuffs don’t provide me with enough give to take off whatever’s covering my eyes. I _still_ can’t see anything. 

And I’m stuck here. Lovely. 

I keep trying to swing my head around to see if whatever’s blocking my vision will fall off, but it’s to no avail, the Sandman has blinded me. My distress, however, is only aggravated as soon as I hear footsteps approaching, and I freeze in place. 

Only two feet. One person. They sound loud. A person of a stronger build, I’d say. I try to crane my neck to hear it better, but whatever’s covering my eyes is also muffling my ears. 

I can hear them opening a door, and step inside, their footsteps getting louder as they approach me. Whoever it is, is right next to me. My whole body stiffens and I to remain as still as possible. You could drop a pin and the people on the other side of the globe could hear it. 

My guess was right. A person who looks much stronger than the average male pulls off what apparently was a sackcloth, from my head. This light has got nothing on the Sandman. With how bright it is, I wouldn’t be surprised if I actually did end up blind. 

“Welcome to your next assignment.”  
  
As soon as my eyes adjust I look directly at the man standing in front of me, my eyes landing right on his, our stares voicing an unheard challenge to see who can maintain eye contact the longest. 

Coward. He walks to the far end of the room, pacing, before he makes his way to the opposite side of the table. He sits down in front of me, and his gaze never leaves mine, his eyes frozen in place, testing me. Testing me to see who would look away first. 

I don’t plan on giving in to this challenge, so I allow my peripheral vision to take in as much information about my surroundings as I possibly can. 

Well, I was right. I’m cuffed to a table, I didn’t need my vision to tell me that. But, across from the table, past the now occupied chair, and behind the man sitting in it, there’s a window. Not just any window. It’s more of a darkened glass wall, and I can see my reflection in it. Almost like a mirror forcing me to stare at myself. Adjacent to the mirror is a door. No other windows on either of the walls, excluding the one behind me, which I can’t see. An interrogation room. That’s not a mirror. Whoever else is on that side can see us. 

He’s waiting for me to talk. Or at least look away long enough so that I can notice the folder that he’s set on the table between us. 

Dead silence. 

He slides the file over, all without breaking eye contact, but I make no move to open it. It’s not like I could anyway, the idiot still hasn’t uncuffed me yet. 

“Open it.” My eyes are still glued to his. I have to tug on my wrists to remind him how much of an imbecile he is, thinking I could open it with no hands. I’m not that skilled. It doesn’t work; he produces no key. Instead, he reaches a hand across to open the file for me, leaving me locked in place. Coward. 

My eyes are still glued to his, but when the file falls open, he lets his eyes glance towards it, silently ordering me to do the same and look at what’s inside.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be needing your partner for this one. Try not to screw it up.” My eyes snap back up to meet his at the mention of me having to go solo again, but they quickly look back down at the file in front of me. Nearly half of it has redacted information. 

He allows a quietness to take over the room as I read over the entire file.

Inside, there’s a picture of a young man, I’d say late twenties if I had to guess. Maybe even early thirties. The age has been redacted. It’s his eyes that give him away though. Apart from that, he looks rather young. They look beyond his years, tired. As if he’s stared straight into the mouth of Hades and somehow didn’t fall in. Or maybe he did fall in and managed to pull himself out. 

I commit his image to memory, taking in every detail, all the way down from his facial structure to every freckle, even the slightest possible dimple. If this had been a different life, I’d even go as far as to say he’s attractive. I glance over to the side of the image to see that his name, of all things, has been redacted. How intriguing. He must be someone of importance. Government ranking at least. There’s no way there would be this much information, specifically redacted information, on just an average civilian. He’s gotta be government. 

The little information that is presented though, is astonishing to say in the least. With the amount of hours he has clocked in, there’s no way this guy has many friends. To say this guy is a workaholic would be an understatement. Classic for a government type. Not military though. No way someone of his stature is military. Maybe an officer? Doubt it though. He doesn’t look built for that either. 

Something else catches my eye. His medical records. They’re a bit odd. Squeaky clean except for a series of headaches and migraines. Probably stress induced from his long work hours. Anthrax, how interesting. Maybe a scientist? Must work in a lab to be exposed to something like that. I hate scientists. Especially government employed scientists. No university lab in the entire country would allow anyone to be working with anthrax cultures. He’s government for sure. 

He has extensive schooling, which is unsurprising for a scientist, if he even is a scientist, which at this point I’d be hesitant to say otherwise. No family listed except his mother, who is currently being housed in a sanitarium. Interesting. Explains his psychology degree though. No pictures of her… must not be a social media user. Again, not surprising. If he is a scientist, then he’s no doubt in his head all the time, always thinking he can fix or discover something that no one else has. This type of behavior would usually lead to social isolation. If I’m right about him being the science type, and I think I am, then everything else is pretty easy to deduce from there. He lacks a social life, maybe even a personal life. He’s withdrawn from others around him, work or research cuts into his personal time, spends extensive hours reading and experimenting, doesn’t have many friends outside of the lab, doesn’t like breaking from established routine, the list goes on. He’s predictable. They all are. Doesn’t matter what field their research is in. They are all cut from the same cloth. Predictable. 

“He’s your next assignment.”


	2. The Assignment

“He’s your next assignment.” 

“Don’t I get a name?”

“You won’t need one. You’ll be meeting him in two months. After you’ve adapted to your new position, you will then have three additional months to obtain any and all information regarding this.” 

As if on cue, someone else walked through the door and handed him a file, and brought a key to unlock my hands. He left without so much as blinking an eye in my direction. These people are so full of themselves. Those handcuffs were so tight that I couldn’t even turn my wrists around in them. It’s not like I was going to try to escape from them anyways. 

As soon as my wrists had their circulation back, the file was turned towards me, and was opened to reveal a series of crime scene photos. Professional CSI photos. How did they get a hold of these? I knew they had informants, but ones within the police force? These people are more far reaching than I had thought.

Flipping through each photo, with my now free hands, I see what looks like a staged murder with the amount of blood shown in these photos. I’ve seen a lot in these past 10 years, but nothing could have prepared me for this. My stomach is doing backflips, and I’m used to seeing things like this. Imagine those poor cops who had to deal with all this mess.

These, without a doubt, are some of the most gruesome photographs I have ever seen. And despite them just being pieces of paper, it feels like they are staring straight back at me from the file. The souls of the dead challenging me to stare back into the depths of the Underworld. 

Each photograph depicts a different angle of the murder scene. Five Bratva members. Covered in blood, along with the entire floor, and most of the room. No place looks like it was left clean, save for the circle on each of their shoulders, purposefully left void of blood, allowing their tattoos to show through. It looks like the blood in that area was whipped off. Only one of them was Vory, based off the tattoos alone.

Well, at least I can safely say that they weren’t killed by other Bratva members. Goes against their line of code. Something is still off though….

How could an outsider know where to look for the tattoos? Granted, the shoulder is common placement for tattoos, but the fact that those tattoos specifically were left uncovered… Why not do the same with all the other tattoos they had?

This was a message. But for who? Clearly for someone within the Bratva, but who specifically…

“Three weeks ago, a brother was arrested for their murders.”

This just keeps getting stranger and stranger. A member would never raise a hand against another brother, let alone five. Whoever did this is still out there, and the cops are none the wiser. 

“Ok, but how does the other guy tie into this?” 

“He’s the one who made the wrong arrest.”

The scientist is a cop? There’s no way. How does a beat cop end up with all those degrees? I could’ve sworn he was a scientist. No, there has to be more to this.

“What else is there that you’re not telling me?”

“The case was taken over by the Feds. Something called the BAU. Which means, we’ve lost our informant.”

 _A Fed?_ He’s not just a cop, but a Fed? Well, I’ll be damned. Sure does explain those degrees though. I barely have enough time to process my initial shock before he continues explaining why they’re so concerned with guy’s involvement. 

“If he made the arrest, then he was working the case. They all were. But, we want you to bring him back to us. The convocation has called for retribution for that false arrest. He put another brother in danger, and it cost him his life. Died in prison like a dog. We’re not just going to let a mistake like that go unpaid.”

A Fed, They want me to deliver a Fed to them? Well, these people really are idiots. Getting information was one thing, but handing someone over to them like that? Who do they think I am? I’m not some UPS delivery service. I’ll get the information, but that’s where I draw the line.

“Do we know who’s really behind this?”

“Not yet. But we need to get to whoever it is before the Feds do. Their databases came up empty. So, they’ve moved everything to paper. That’s where you come in. ” 

Getting my hands on a couple of files shouldn’t be too difficult. It’s the rest that’s going to be a challenge. 

He closes the files and rests his arms on the table, bringing his face closer to mine. I mirror his actions, leaning forwards as that staring contest starts up again, and I prepare myself to listen to the most likely disastrous ploy that’s about to be explained to me in excruciating detail.

”When do I start?”

* * *

**_Spencer’s POV_ **

It took us one long, tiring week to build a profile. And even then, our profile proved to be erroneous. It’s always the little mistakes, the ones that get overlooked, that lead to bigger mistakes in the end. 

Our profile led us to make the arrest of Konstantin Murdoch, a lower ranking Bratva member, who would run errands for the rest of organization. We had profiled a group, and we thought that he could lead us to the rest of them. Unfortunately, he was silent during most of the interrogation, refusing to give any names or information. We couldn’t let him go. Whether he wanted to give up the rest of the names or not, he was still an accomplice. The only thing that we didn’t see coming was what happened next.

Not even two days after his arrest, he was killed in prison. Same MO as the other five murders. 

We had got the wrong guy. Possibly the wrong group too, if the profile even fit a group description anymore.

After that, with the Unsub still at large, we spent two more weeks on the case. Digging up every corner, looking down every path, rereading every single report, but we came up dry each time. Two weeks, and we haven’t gotten any new leads on the gang murders in Massachusetts, nor on the second murder. We were, however, able to develop and build a more accurate profile in that time, which we ended up leaving with the local PD there. There’s not much for us to do once a case goes cold, except wait for the Unsub to make their next move. But, there’s only so long that we can wait until a new case turns up. 

We got called back to Virginia, where a new local case had sprung up. So, we all had to put this previous case on the back burner for now to focus on the more active case at hand. It’s never easy letting go of a case that’s gone cold, especially when it was one that was as gruesome as this. That Unsub was still out there, but it was out of our hands for now. At least until new information presented itself. 

Once this next case was closed, we all went back to the office, burnt out and ready to go home. But, Life is just not that easy. All of us had come back to the office only to be greeted by an immense amount of paper work. It always piles up like this, an unavoidable result of back-to-back cases. 

Seeing that all this paper work will keep me here well into the night, I decide that I can’t do anything until I at least get another cup of coffee. Settling down at my desk, I begin the arduous task of reading, organizing, filing, and storing away a bunch of mostly cold case files. The write up for the report of the local case was peanuts compared to the amount of work needed to store away the mafia case. Having to move everything to paper meant, having to dig up years and years worth of organized crime reports. To make matters worse, we couldn’t rely on Garcia to help us find the connections this time, we had to do it ourselves, page by page. 

I go through another two cups of coffee before I even begin to make a noticeable amount of progress. I end up taking a break to reheat up the old coffee in the break room. I shift my weight to rest against the counter as I’m waiting for the coffee, and I notice that my neck is sore from looking down at so many case files. But, standing here at the coffee pot, looking back at the still huge tower of files, I realize that I’ve barely even made a dent in the stack of papers sitting on my desk.

This will take a while.

* * *

I sit on the edge of the counter in my new apartment, watching the cars pass by out the window as I waited for the morning coffee to brew. Musing over life always brings unwelcome tension back in my shoulders. Turning my gaze from the window, I try to will my mind to focus on something else that will distract me. 

The room is almost entirely empty, there’s nothing to stare at. All my belongings fit in one corner of the room. Going from cover to cover, I’ve learned to live light, and travel lighter. It supposedly takes twenty-one days for a routine to develop, and I’ve been in my new apartment for almost two weeks now. But, my cover is already thoroughly developed. I guess you could say that I adapt quickly. There’s a bright side to this though. It gives me more time to spend preparing. 

Two months. Two months is all I have before this meeting with the BAU. I haven’t even heard of them until a couple weeks ago. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. They profile criminals, study their behavior, and use that to hunt down targets, or in their case suspects. Interesting. Maybe this will even prove to be a little fun in the end.

In the meantime, I’ve been spending nearly every waking hour of my day trying to learn as much as I can about these people. I’ve watched them deliver profiles in old news coverages, I’ve studied their body language, their mannerisms, the nuisances in their speech, everything. I even went out and bought David Rossi’s books. Most of my mornings, and some of my nights, consist of me trying to read, learn, and memorize every single word he’s written, all the way down to the punctuation. I’ve already finished two books.

They say you can learn a lot about an author by the way they write. Even the slightest change in diction can tell you more than you realize. From sci-fi to non-fiction to comedy, all authors reveal more about themselves than they care to admit. They pour themselves out onto the page, emptying all their thoughts, setting up their frame of mind, revealing to you their inner most secrets, sometimes without even realizing they’re doing it. 

I wonder what that says about editors. 

The buzz of the coffee maker brings me out of my thoughts, and the smell of the new pot brewing eases a bit of that tension from my shoulders. So, after I pour myself a cup, I walk over to pick up my third David Rossi book, and make myself comfortable back at the window. But much like earlier, it’s not long before I find that I can’t bring myself to focus on the pages. There’s too many words, they’re all swimming from page to page, jumping out at me, smothering my eyes. I need a break. 

Setting the book aside for now, and chugging the last remnants of coffee from my mug, I head over to where all my belongings are, and I start unpacking. It shouldn’t take long, there’s not a whole lot to begin with. But, something catches the corner of my eye as I’m unpacking, and wouldn’t you know, my mind goes and gets itself distracted again. 

I pull out a sleeve of leather that I forgot I had. The harness portion has seen better days, but the actual sleeve itself is still intact, along with all the blades that are sheathed in it. My thigh holster. I haven’t used it in over four years.

Now, I’m not really the type of person to like guns. Maybe it’s just the Bratva, and guns remind me too much of them, or maybe I just prefer something more reliable, but either way, I prefer close-range combat. The fight is more fair that way. Knowing how to handle a blade is much more advantageous. It requires skill, practice, stealth, and although guns do require skill if you’re to be a sharp-shooter, almost anyone can pull a trigger. Not everyone can throw a knife with the same amount of precision as you could get from a gun. It takes a special muscle memory and arm strength. 

Turning the sleeve over in my hands, I look around for something that I can use as a target board. Nothing. I almost contemplate using the closet door, but that idea is dismissed from my mind as soon as it entered it. Practicing on trees outside would raise way too many questions, so that’s out of the question too. I need a sturdy wood board for this. So, until I find one, I won’t be able to practice. Such a shame. Target practice always seems to quell that ever persistent tension in my shoulders. Something about just relying on muscle memory instead of actually having to think; it soothes me. 

It’s almost noon by the time I finish unpacking everything, and organizing the room so that it looks lived in. I knew it wouldn’t take me long. The only thing left to do now is finish that book… 

As much as I just want to get this mission over with, I can’t help but want to delay the inevitable. There’s no way I am going to deliver someone to their death sentence, or perhaps even worse. Crossing these people isn’t going to be easy either. Even if I do bring the actual murderer to them instead, they won’t forget that I blatantly ignored the convocation’s ruling. I doubt they would rule in my favor either, despite my ranking. _Just don’t think about it now._ I can keep putting this off all I want, but I’m going to have to face it eventually. 

Well, as for now, all I can do is replay the mission over and over in my head, making sure that every possible scenario and outcome is accounted for, should something go wrong. Still, there is another thing that worries me. The time frame. It’s difficult enough to try to build trust within a three months time span, especially with Feds, but it’s even more difficult to try and cross hairs with the Bratva. If I can’t bring myself to deliver the target to them within three months, then no amount of training will prepare me for the inevitable sentencing I will have to face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might add part 3 tonight, or over the weekend, depending on when I finish my uni work.
> 
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


	3. The Scientist

**_Spencer’s POV_ **

“Everyone, welcome Agent (Y/n) (Y/l/n) to the BAU.”

Hotch mentioned that we’d be getting a new addition to the team. Most of us are worn out from having to juggle our regular caseload with all the paperwork from the mafia case. The brass decided to hire a temporary agent until the case was solved. I just didn’t know that they would decide to hire another younger agent to deal with paperwork. Sure, there are a lot of younger agents looking for temp jobs, but the brass usually gives the filing system jobs to the older, more experienced agents, ones who already know how the system works so they don’t have to be trained. 

Then again, who was I to judge by age. Besides, it would be nice to have someone on the team to joke around with on a more equal level and share common generational interests with. 

“Agent (Y/l/n), this is Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi, SSA Morgan, Prentiss, Jearau, and Dr. Reid.” 

“Wow, there’s a doctor in the group.” The words themselves suggested surprise, but they way she said them was flat, like she already knew this and was just restating a fact. 

“Y-yeah. That’s me.” Of course I just had to make this awkward. I couldn’t even get one sentence out without stumbling over the words. I’m sure Morgan wouldn’t fail to mention it later, and I would just chalk it up to nerves or something. 

We all went through the formality of shaking hands, except for me, opting instead to just wave. She didn’t seem to mind this, in fact, she seemed rather fascinated by my behavior. 

“(Y/l/n), you would usually be working with Dr. Reid, helping him sort through old case files until those get cleared out of the way. But for today, we have a case and we’d like you to join us so you can get an idea of how things work around here. Our tech analyst, Garcia, will be presenting the case to us.”

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed and we all took our seats around the table, everyone making small talk with the new agent while we waited for Garcia to arrive. 

Well, most everyone was talking. I had nothing to add to their conversation. I’m not one for small talk much. Had I known this silence of mine would come back to haunt me later, I would have spoken up and at least said _something_. But, I am no Prometheus. 

No. Instead, I hadn’t realized my mistake until later on. And it wasn’t until we were all situated on the jet and later during the case that I noticed it.

Her inclination to ignore me. Normally I wouldn’t pay much attention to this, after all, new agents usually have a hard time adjusting to such a demanding environment as the BAU, so introversion isn’t uncommon in new recruits. In fact, it’s expected. Fear of rejection, fear of inadequacy, fear of being incompetent, all these would manifest in quiet, reserved behavior in new team members.

But, (Y/n)’s behavior was strange. Not because it seemed like she was ignoring me, but because she was ignoring _only_ me, and no one else. Strange might be an overstatement, or perhaps the wrong word to describe it entirely. But, there was something off. Off enough for me to notice it. 

And I didn’t catch it right away. I noticed it gradually. I noticed it in the way that she let the others carry the brunt of the conversation, only joining in to prolong it. She was always able to stir the conversation away from her and towards the direction she wanted, like a master manipulator. I could only wonder what she would be like once Hotch finally let her into an interrogation room. 

Since this was (Y/n)’s first case, the plan was that she’d shadow each of us and learn the gist of things before being thrown into the field head first. I’ll admit, she was a fast learner. She jumped from observing one agent to the next, until she finally wound up with me. 

Geographical profiling. She knew more about it than the average newbie, and I thought maybe Morgan gave her some pointers ahead of time. But geographical profiling isn’t his strong suit, so maybe not. Unlike the how she shadowed the others, she stayed silent most of the time when she was with me. She didn’t even bother trying to strike up any conversation beyond a greeting; instead she decided to work on her own leads and ideas. I may as well have not even been in the room. 

And it’s not like she was shy, or wasn’t good at talking. She had made that evidently clear with her behavior towards the rest of the team. So why had she chosen to ignore me? 

I had tried to start a conversation myself, only to find that every time I did so, she would abruptly turn her attention to another file, or something else on one of the maps would pop out and grab her interest suddenly, and the shuffle of all the papers and maps would drown out my voice, killing the question before it even left my lips. 

I gave up on that idea, and settled for ignoring her like she did to me instead. But, she was so busying silencing my actions with the background noise of the papers that she didn’t even give me the chance to ignore her back, which pissed me off even more. 

She knew she was ignoring me, and she knew I noticed but she continued to go on doing so anyways. So that’s when I started paying closer attention to her behavior. And that’s when I saw it. 

Throughout the case, she would find a way to become the silent puppet master of any, and nearly all, the conversations that took place within that police precinct. She would cozy herself up to the team and lend them an all too eager ear whenever they had an idea to share. And no one, probably not even Rossi, noticed just how strange this was. 

But I noticed it.

I noticed how she casually struck up a conversation with JJ about the case, only for it to end in JJ talking about her kids, and home life, which is only normal for a proud mother to want to talk about her kids. But that wasn’t all.

I also saw it with the rest of the team. I noticed how she made an effort to learn as much as she could about all of them. I saw how she got Emily, of all people, to reveal so much of her past to her, explaining details that she had been so adamant in keeping hidden from the rest of us initially. I noticed it when she was more than happy to drive Hotch and Rossi to the crime scene, no doubt getting them to spill their life stories like the others had so willingly done prior. 

She was the silent director of all these conversations. She talked and listened, dancing hand in hand with all the social cues, mimicking their behavior to establish a comforting bond, listening attentively, absorbing the information that the others had poured out to her with little to no second thought. 

All this I saw, and subconsciously took note of, but all the others around seemed oblivious to her behavior. She was just the new, friendly agent. 

Well, if she was so friendly, then why had she made no such attempt at conversing with me? 

Perhaps that’s how I noticed everything. Because it was happening to everyone but me. 

She went to all this effort of studying each team member’s behavior, adopting their quirks as her own in order to manipulate their sense of security and learn their secrets, but she did not even so much as breathe in my direction.

Emily, JJ, Morgan, Rossi, even Hotch. She used the same tactic on all of them. But not me. _Why_? 

Truthfully, her behavior seemed sort of rude. I questioned whether or not she was giving me the cold shoulder because I had refused to speak to her earlier back in the debriefing room in Quantico, but that couldn’t be it, because Hotch barely said anything then either. 

So what was it? 

I was hung up on this throughout the entire case. So much so that I wasn’t able to focus properly. Instead of pouring all my effort into the profile, all my focus was directed towards trying to figure out her behavior. The fact that I couldn’t pinpoint its cause right away made me even more frustrated, which distracted me from the case even more so than I already was. And in the end, it was (Y/n)’s theory that helped lead to a breakthrough in the case. Granted, her theory had a few holes, and I helped iron them out, but it was still her original theory. I had merely made a few last minute corrections to the profile. 

Another thing that was strange was how she was able to develop a theory so fast and with so little evidence. We were done with the case within the same week. 

It wasn’t just that though. Everything she did made me feel uneasy for some reason. And it wasn’t just because I was being petty that she made the connections in the profile before I did. No, there was something _off_ about her. 

For instance, most new agents would usually keep to themselves during the first couple of days on the job. But, (Y/n) seemed to be quite the opposite. Her bubbly personality flowed out from her in everything she did. In the way she carried herself, in the way she talked, everything. She hadn’t withheld any theories during the debriefing, which is uncommon for new agents, but that’s not all that caught my attention. No, it was what happened before that during the jet ride to the precinct, during the case, and afterwards on the jet ride home. She made sure to insert herself in as many conversations as she could, oversharing in anything and everything except personal matters.

She went around, talking to each of us, except myself. And it wasn’t just small talk. Within minutes she managed to learn more about us than any other agent could have within the span of a month. And I’m pretty sure no one else noticed. They didn’t notice the subtle ways in which she would shift the conversation, guiding the topic to one of deeper depth. She was a trojan horse in our midst. I was convinced of it. 

And the only reason why I noticed was because she didn’t use the same tactics on me. If I wasn’t so set on trying to profile her, I would have been offended. 

I never got to the bottom of it until the jet ride back home. 

“Care for a game of chess Doc?” (Y/n) was sitting in one of the corner seats, near the back of the jet, with a chess board set up mid game. She began to clear it to prepare a new game when she saw that she had caught my attention. 

I wonder why she was just now acknowledging my existence. 

Of course, I sat down. I was curious as to why her behavior had changed so. And I wanted to see for myself what could have possibly caused this change. Because surely, it was nothing that I had done. 

She played black and I played white, which meant that I had the opening move. Smart. An opening move can tell you a lot about the way a person thinks. It reveals quite a bit about that person’s psychological make up.

Usually a defensive play right off the bat could be suggestive that the opponent is skilled at hiding things, and tends to keep their thoughts guarded. Conversely, if they were to chose to take a more aggressive approach, it could be suggestive that they like to get to the bottom of things right away, whereas a tactical approach would imply that the player is trying to prolong the game in order to catch their opponent off guard, striking later when the other player is worn out.

And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was trying to learn something about me by allowing me to play the first move. 

That would be a first. She certainly didn’t care to do so before.

Another thing I noticed was that her playbook was rather impressive. Her strategy mimicked those of the greats. Kasporov, Aronian, Topalov, even Polgár. She definitely knew her way around the board. Her skill was beyond that of your average park player. She had to have studied somewhere. 

What I found to be even more impressive was how she was able to manipulate the board to her advantage, and this was only our first game. She had no previous games to take into consideration when trying to analyze my playing style. Yet, somehow she was able to recognize my strategy, and combat it with a completely disruptive pattern of her own, creating an invisible battle of minds on the board in front of us. I was in awe. We were barely 10 minutes in and she could read my play book like the back of her hand. There’s only one way she could do this.

_She had profiled me._

Alright. Fine. That didn’t bother me, I could do the same. What did bothered me was the way she was playing, the strategy she was using. She would punctuate each move with a question. It was like a double interrogation, a battle of wits and resourcefulness. 

It was not even halfway through the game that I realized I was playing a game that was far outside of my skill set. I had never played a game of chess like this before. It was like our words were clashing in the air, choking answers out of the opponent, while our pieces on the board warred with each other below the crossfire. An interrogation, far too intense for a post-case jet ride.

She could have been the female embodiment of Gideon, she was that good. Maybe even better. After all, Gideon never distracted his opponent with his integration skills. He only ever interrupted the game to offer words of wisdom, or share advice.

But that wasn’t her style. No, her interruptions were much more aggressive than that. Which baffled me in of itself because it was contradictory to her moves on the board, almost all of them defensive. How she was able to keep both sides of the war up, I had no idea, but she did. Her voice was always charging ahead, armed with questions, while her pieces on the board retreated into a realm of safety, away from attack. 

And (Y/n)’s questions, although manipulative like she was with the other agents, were not inquisitive. She wasn’t trying to pry her way into my personal life. Like she didn’t care in getting to know me. I don’t know why, but I found this even more insulting. Was there something about me that was so different than the others that caused this behavior in her? 

Sure, she would disperse affirming comments here and there throughout our dialogue; she was never out rightly rude, nor hostile in her speech. She was just …dismissive. 

She made no effort or attempt in trying to find out anything new about me. Everything she said was already obvious to her. That the team respected me, and that they held me in high regards. That was a given; she knew that. The cops back in the precinct knew that. 

“I’m sure everyone already thinks very highly of you too.” I said this more to myself than I did to her, but she didn’t overlook the bitterness behind the my words.

“But you don’t?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I can hear it in your voice.” Now _this_ was interesting. For once, the moves she made on board matched the conversation. Both relatively neutral in their nature. Not overly aggressive, but not entirely defensive either. She continued to talk as she waited for me to make my analysis of the board.

“Alright, tell me then. If you don’t share the others’ sentiments, then what do you think of me, Doctor?” She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, already fully intrigued by whatever answer I could come up with. 

“I think… that you’re overcompensating for something.” I made my last move across the board as I said this, and our game of chess became temporarily suspended. We both had devoted our full attention to the conversation at hand. 

“Interesting. Like what?” Her voice was filled with amusement. She was enjoying this. This battle of wits. I don’t blame her. I was enjoying it a bit myself, but for an entirely different reason. I was waiting to see the look on her face when I finally figured out what was behind that disarming smile of hers. 

“Well, most people usually overshare because they feel lonely. So, they take any chance that they can get to talk to someone, even if it means trying to squeeze in more information than necessary in what would otherwise be a normal conversation. But, that’s not you.”

“It’s not?” I was about ready to wipe that smug look off her face. I was so fed up with her. Leaning forward over the board, I began to deliver what would prove to be one of the best and worst profiles I had ever given. 

“No. I think you fall into one of the other categories. One of which would be oversharing due to feelings of guilt.” I could feel her body language begin to shift, and I took this as a sign to continue. “Guilt, in this case being something that’s deeply rooted into your personal life since that’s the one topic you keep avoiding. Which would, in addition to the way you’re crossing your arms, imply that you’re hiding something. Something that is bad enough that you don’t want to share with other law enforcement agents, but not so bad that it didn’t prevent you from getting on the team. Unless I’m wrong about that and you’re just good at covering up your past.”

It was like she froze in her seat. This told me I was in the right ballpark. Good. If I couldn’t get under her skin by ignoring her like she did with me, then I’d do it by tearing her apart with a profile. 

“You’ve managed to hold conversation with all the agents on this plane for an extended period of time, getting them to spill to you details that they didn’t even consider sharing with each other for months. And _you_ have somehow managed to do it within five minutes. You’ve charmed your way into their personal lives with cleverly thought out pleasantries, little hand gestures and microexpressions, and it’s only your first day on the job. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed, but that’s not all that I’ve noticed.”

“Oh?” I could tell she was getting angry. She wasn’t the only one who could read people. She uncrossed her arms and used her elbows to lean forward over the chess board, mimicking my stance and bringing her face closer to mine. I continued at a lower volume.

“During those five minutes, you’ve also managed to be an equal participant in those conversations, but not once did you share a single ounce of personal information. Sure, you’ve just moved here, you’ve gotten transferred between agencies, and your favorite coffee shop is only around the corner from your apartment, but that’s not personal. That’s almost all common knowledge to every single person in Quantico.” 

Little did I know, I had unsheathed a double edge sword, exposing it out of its protective case and leaving it open, and in doing so, I left us both vulnerable to it’s blade. Like I said, I was no Prometheus. I had no idea that we would both end up getting cut by the blade.

“You’ve dodged all the questions about interpersonal relationships. Relationships with your family, friends, old co-workers, the whole shebang. And you did so in a way that didn’t catch the attention of the others. And they are profilers. How they didn’t notice, I don’t know.”

“So then, how did you notice?”

“Because you didn’t have any such conversation with me.”

“Have you ever considered why?”

“I thought maybe it was because I was the only one who didn’t welcome you like the others. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been more of an observer during most of this case, staying out of the way, keeping busy with paper trails. So maybe you’ve just never had the chance to talk to me. But, the other agents were busy too, and you’ve talked plenty with them. So maybe you have some grudge against me for something that I did or off-handedly said that’s offended you. But, I’ve retraced my steps, and my every action, and have found nothing. I’ve ruled out every possibility. Except for the obvious one, which I was reluctant to conclude, because it seems beneath you. But, it’s the only thing left, so apparently it’s not.” 

“And what’s that?” She inquired, resuming the game on the table before us. I glanced down and saw that she played the offensive, moving her rook across the board, covering her king and threatening my knight at the same time. 

“Maybe you’re just jealous. Jealous that _I_ was the one who fixed all the holes in your theory about the Unsub. Jealous of how much the team values me as a member.”

I moved my knight out of her line of attack, a defensive move. 

“ _Jealous_? All those things you just mentioned. You think an Average Joe would have been able to work their way around a conversation like that? You think just anyone could learn what I’ve learned about nearly this entire team, minus yourself, within a day? No. It would have to take someone with at least some smarts. Even if it’s just a small grain of cleverness. An ounce. They’d need to have some type of knowledge under their belt. You’re not the only genius on this plane, _Doctor_.”

And with that, she laid her king down in surrender, and got up from her seat to move to the other side of the plane, joining the other agents and leaving me staring at the chessboard, alone. 

She had surrendered a winning board. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be posting part 4 until next week, I have Midterms coming up and I need to get those out of the way first.
> 
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


	4. Coffee Amendments

Working alongside Dr. Reid. This could not have been handed to me more easily. 

Obviously, that’s not true, because I ended up getting to work with his team for a whole week too. So, it was even easier than I had initially expected. I thought I would have to study Dr. Reid from a distance, but no. I had the great opportunity to get up close and personal with him _and_ his team. And his team was an open book. They were all too easy. All too eager to spill out their life stories to me. Truthfully, I was thankful for this. I meant that I would have less work to do.

They even so graciously let some factoids about the young Doctor slip out in conversation here and there. Usually I don’t like listening to other people’s opinion of my target - or in this case assignment - before I can form one of my own, but they weren’t average people they were profilers, a reliable source. So, any pieces of information or insight towards his behavior that I could get from them were quintessential in building my own opinion of Reid. How else would I have been able to break him down so easily in just one week?

You see, I purposefully singled out Reid like that. I needed to study him as if he was a person, not just some case file that was handed to me. So, at first I watched from a distance, studying him objectively so my preconceived opinions and prejudices wouldn't get in the way. I took note of his behavior, his quirks, and filed them away in my mind for future use while I studied his team, who revealed more about the good Doctor’s behavior to me than they were aware of. And based on what I could guess of him so far, I knew he wouldn’t take kindly to being isolated.

I mean, the youngest agent on a team like this? There’s no doubt he isn’t the center of all their attention. I knew that if I deprived him of the normalcy he was used to, that he’d begin to doubt himself. He’d let something slip up. 

And he did. Scientists are always the introspective type. It’s a very predictable character trait of theirs. They have to inspect every part of their lives, looking for any flaws they can find, hypothesizing how they could go about fixing themselves without ever actually fixing anything. But, turns out he’s more than just a scientist, which is what I forgot to account for. That was the only flaw in my plan. 

But, that flaw helped me learn a little more about him in the end. He’s only the confrontational type if he has to be. That is, he wouldn’t even pick up a gun to defend himself, but if it’s someone on his team? He’d aim the gun, pull the trigger, and fire. 

I suppose we’re opposites in that way. 

I took note of how he was also looking for constant validation from literally everyone on this team. Probably developed as a result of all the attention he’s so used to getting. Which is also why he didn’t take so kindly to me not providing that validation that he’s so accustomed to.

What I didn’t expect was that whole ordeal on the plane. I knew he would lash out, that was the whole point of my plan. To get under his skin, get him to lash out or slip up so that I could get a better understanding of the guy. I just expected it to be more physical than verbal. At least that way I could have been more prepared for it. I was swimming in dangerous waters now. I had basically admitted to everything he said by leaving like that. And I was afraid that it might be too late to backtrack my steps.

The only thing worse than that jet ride were the days that followed. I had no problem pretending that that jet ride never happened. Reid however, did not share my sentiments. No, he was petty, like most science types are. They just always have to be right.

Almost all of his actions had resentment hidden behind them. He would always be overdramatic, as if he was trying to get his point across by his mere actions alone. Like he was trying to show me he’s still upset. I couldn’t care less whether he was upset or not. If anything, I’m the one who should be upset with him. He’s the one who felt it was okay to dissect me in public like that.

So, what did I do? I ignored him again. I walked into work, sat down, and paid him no mind. And it made him mad. Again. Soon, he was even worse at hiding his anger than his resentment. But I was well versed in the language of apathy, and none of it fazed me.

“These are the more recent cases. Once we get these cleared, we can start on the real ones downstairs.” He plopped a stack of file on the corner of my desk, dangerously close to where my coffee was, the sudden movement threatening to knock over my cup. 

“The real ones?”

“Yes. The real ones. The reason why you were hired.” He said curtly. 

“I wasn’t told the details of the cases during my interview.” I said as kindly as ever, ignoring his blatant rudeness. He knew what I was doing. Sighing at this, he continued. 

“There’s an old case that’s been moved entirely to paperwork. It’s gone cold until new evidence presents itself, if it ever does. Anyways, we still have to file away all the case reports. But we need to finish up these first.”

I went to work on the case files, learning how to write up reports along the way. Every time I’d get something wrong, Reid wouldn’t hesitate to correct me. My desk was conveniently across from his, and with the tall stature he had, all he had to do was lean forward a bit to see over his desk and stare down at the mistakes on my papers.

I began to wonder if he pointed out irrelevant mistakes just to slow me down. With the pace I was going at, I knew that it would take the rest of the day, and a little bit of the following morning to finish up these case files. I finished the day having gone through a majority of the files I was given before giving up to go home. I’d come to work early and finish up the few that remained then. That is, if I wasn’t going to be given another stack the next day.

But, to my surprise, the next morning, instead of being greeted with another stack of case files being slammed down onto my desk, I was greeted with a cup of coffee and a bagged pastry that Reid had walked over to hand deliver to me himself. I was beginning to question whether or not he had confused me with someone else. That or I must be hallucinating.

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm apologizing. For the thing on the jet.” He stood there with his hands in his pockets, and a timid smile on his face. It _almost_ seemed genuine. 

“Why?”

“Because I feel bad for analyzing you like that. It wasn’t fair and I -”

“No you don't.” I interrupted. 

”What?” The timidness in his expression was replaced by confusion. And despite all the bitterness I felt towards him, I explained what I meant anyways. I would have thought a genius such as himself would understand how basic human emotions work. 

“You don't feel bad. You’re only apologizing because you realized that we were going to have to continue working together until this temp job of mine is over, and you didn’t want it to be awkward.”

“So, you're insinuating that you know my feelings better than I do?” No confusion. No shy, timidness now. If anything, there's a smidge of anger starting to surface. 

“Am I wrong?” I placed my pen down, closed the file and turned in my chair towards him now, partly so I could look up at his bitter expression, and partly so he could see that I was just as annoyed.

“Okay, fine.” He took back the coffee and bag, walked over to one of the desks on the other side, and placed them down there. 

“Oh what? You’re going to make me get up and walk over to get my coffee now?”

“Nope. It’s not yours anymore.” Reid left the coffee on the desk and started walking back over to his desk as casually as ever. And before I could even understand what he meant, Morgan walked through the bullpen doors, and Reid’s voice called him over.

“Hey Morgan! I brought you some coffee, I left it on your desk.” This son of a bitch.

“Look, if you think this is your way out of that bet from a while back, then you’re going to have to do more than just coffee, Kiddo.”

“There’s a bagel there too.” He said sitting down at his desk, stealing a glance towards me with a smug look of victory ghosting over his face. Well, at least I can see why people around here call him ‘Kid’. And here I thought it was just because he was the youngest member. Nope. Turns out he’s just as childish too.

Dismissing the whole ordeal from my mind, I went back to work and finished up the stack of files that were on my desk before noon time came around. After handing the files to Reid, I left the office so I could actually get decent coffee of my own. But, when I got back, the stack of files was back on my desk like I hadn’t even moved it. I wasn’t even gone for 30 minutes. There’s no way he could have read all of them over that quickly.

“What are these?” I marched over to my desk and placed my jack on the back of my chair, annoyance seeping through my voice.

“Is it not obvious?” Clearly it wasn’t.

“I put them on your desk so you could read over them.”

“And I put them back on yours because I _finished_ reading over them.”

“There’s no way you could have finished them that quickly.”

“Oh, yes there is.” Morgan said, interrupting our bickering. 

“I can read 20,000 words per minute.” Reid spoke up, offering an explanation. I looked over to Morgan for an answer to attest whether or not this was true. The nod of his head gave me my answer. Part of me wonders if maybe this bit of information was part of some of the redacted information from his file. And if it was, I had wondered what else could have been redacted. 

“What no clever comeback to insult me with this time?”

“I- “ In another life I would have been entirely enthralled by this. The fact that some people’s minds can exceed norms in such an extreme manner. I suppose that’s the only similarity between us. But not in this life. Not on this path that Life has decided to lead me down. 

“No. No comeback.” I slouched into my chair, fully prepared to contemplate Life and its many paths again. All my case files were done, and the only work I had left for the day were the old case files waiting for me downstairs. But I had to wait for Reid to finish with the rest of his files before I could even start on those. Apparently, he couldn’t write as fast as he could read.

I sat there staring at his hands as they worked away, scribbling through the files, as I mulled over this new information I had learned about the Scientist. If he could read as fast as he claimed to, then why did the Bureau need a temp to help sort through files? There must be a lot of files if someone like Reid needed assistance with them. Probably more than I could even think of.

Turns out I wasn’t wrong.

Once he finished, he stood up from his chair, grabbing his finished case files, motioning for me to do the same, before we proceeded to carry them to Hotch’s office. He wasn’t in there, so we just left them on the coffee table that was next to the couch so as to not crowd his desk.

After, we went down to the filing room, while I tried to learn a bit more about this case that no one bothered explaining to me yet. “What’s the case?”

“Gang violence.”

“You guys work on gang violence cases?”

“Not typically.” 

“Okay what’s special about this one?”

“Five Bratva members were murdered…” _What_? I stopped dead cold in my tracks when I heard this. This meant that I’d be filing away the mafia case with Spencer Fucking Reid. This just keeps getting easier and easier. 

“...and the presence of five bodies combined with the MO makes it a serial case, which is why…. Are you listening?”

“Yes. I heard.” I informed him, walking faster to catch up with him. I was still in a daze from the realization that I’d get to see everything the Feds had on the mafia.

“What did I say then?”

“I said I heard you.”

“Ok, then it should be no problem for you to reiterate what I said.”

“You talked a mile a minute almost the whole trip down here. I’m not repeating everything.” If we hadn’t reached the filling room, I’m sure the bickering would have continued, but the click of the door’s latched ripped through our discord, silencing us for now.

We opened the door to the file room, which showed us a room that looked like a poorly lit closet, but at least there was a table among all the filing cabinets. We had found a few stacked chairs in the corner of the room, so we brought those over to the table. So, we at least had somewhere to sit while we sorted through the sea of papers.

We worked in silence, only talking when we had to. I was actually relived. It gave me more time to memorize the files.

Honestly, the more I looked over them, the harder it seemed like it would be to find the real killer. I knew he was still out there, even the Feds did at this point. But I had to get to him before the Feds did. If I offered the real killer over to the Bratva, then maybe they’d be more interested in him than my original assignment.

I was so lost in thought, that I hadn’t even realized that Reid had left until the door opened amidst his return, letting light seep through the door. If I didn’t have headphones in I would have heard him. He was carrying two coffees, one in each hand.

Taking my earphones out, I looked around the room to see if anyone had entered without my knowledge, before addressing him. “Funny. I didn’t think Morgan was going to help us with these case files too.”

“He’s not. That coffee is yours.” After he placed the coffee down, seeing that I made no move to grab it, he continued talking. “I mean it this time.”

Like the idiot I was, I reached out to grab the cup of coffee that he assured me was mine, only to have it taken away from me once again. He was quicker than I was, and he grabbed the coffee before I could even reach across the table. It didn’t help that he had placed the coffee dead center in the middle of the table. His arms were longer than mine. Like I said, I was an idiot to fall for the coffee gag a second time.

“Nope. If you want the coffee, then you have to accept my apology first.”

“Then I don’t want the coffee.” I said placing my earphones back in.

“Oh, come on.” I could hear his mumblings through my music, but I pretended to ignore him. I know how much that bothers him. “Ok fine. I’m just going to leave it right here. But know, that if you drink it, it means you’ve accepted my apology.” Joke’s on him because I didn’t plan to drink any of it.

We continued to work through the night while I let my coffee get cold. We deprived ourselves of sleep, working past that point where your brain stops bothering to filter your actions and words. And soon all the files started to morph into one giant blurred mass before my eyes, and the music in my ears droned into a distant buzzing noise, nothing more than white noise now.

I would have sworn that I was sleeping with my eyes open, but when I felt something tap my shoulder, I jumped straight up from my chair and my eyes shot open. My hand went instinctively to the side of my thigh, but when it found no harness there the fogginess from my brain cleared, my location finally registering back into my mind. Just the file room.

“You fell asleep.” Yeah, no shit. I could tell he was a bit taken aback from my reaction, but I hoped that both of our tired states would wash this moment from our memories by the time the next day rolled around. “That’s what you get for not accepting my apology.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten till two.” At this point, I don’t even care if the coffee is ice cold, I just need something to stay awake. We weren’t even done with all the cases dated back to the eighties, and my eyes were tired. 

“In that case, I accept your apology.” When I reached over to grab the coffee, I peeked a look at his face, and I could have sworn I saw him trying to hide a smile. That was enough to raise my suspicions.

“Did you… What did you do to the coffee?” My arm stopped midair, holding the coffee away from me.

“Hmm?”

“I saw you smiling. What did you do to it?”

“What?”

“The coffee, what’d you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything to it!”

“I saw you smiling!”

“I- I wasn’t! I didn’t do anything.” Still not convinced, I placed the coffee back down.

“Oh my g– Okay, here. Look.” Rolling his eyes, he picked it up, opened the lid, and took a sip, showing me that it was safe for consumption. “See?”

He just took a sip from my coffee. There’s no way I was going to drink it now. I informed him of such, hoping that as a scientist, and a germaphobe, he’d leave it alone.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers. And I’m not waking you up this time if you fall asleep.”

I muttered some form of expletive under my breath, as I picked up another file, dismissing myself from the conversation. But what did Reid go and do but drag me back into the conversation.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

“No seriously, what’d you say?”

“Asshole! I said asshole, alright?”

“You think I’m an… asshole?” He said that last word so quietly that _I_ could barely even hear it.

“No Reid, I only said it because I love the way the word just rolls of my tounge.”

“You know what? If you’re _that_ tired, just go home. I can finish up the rest of the cases from the eighties without you.”

“Oh, is that so? Do you know how many of these cases have been left unsolved, when really the answer is as clear as day? At least…” I looked back down at the table that was buried in files. I had lost count of the actual number of cases. “…half of them! And if you can sort through all this mess yourself, why did the Feds- the brass feel the need to hire another agent? Clearly your work is sub-par.”

“Yeah well at least I don’t sleep on the job.”

“At least I know how to play chess.” That one got to him. He slammed the file he was holding down onto the table and just stared at the ceiling behind me, not making eye contact. I could see the veins on the back of his hands, the cerulean blue contrasting the white of his knuckles. Wow, that one _really_ got to him.

I didn’t know what he was staring at, so I turned around and followed his gaze towards the clock on the wall behind me.

_58_

_59_

_60_

As soon as the hand struck the hour, Reid picked up his things and made it out of there without another word. He was out of there so fast, I barely saw him leave by the time I turned back around.

If he thinks I’m finishing these files without him he’s wrong. I got ready to clean up for the night, realizing that come morrow, we would both be back, stuck in that same awkwardness that festers after a confrontation.

So much for accepting that apology. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 to be posted soon.
> 
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


	5. A Truce

_**Spencer’s POV** _

I regretted leaving work when I did, because as soon as I had gotten home, my evening was made worse with a call from Hotch, who informed me we had a case. I barely had two hours to myself and I was already having a headache brought on from (Y/n)’s unnecessary commentary earlier. When I arrived the place was empty. Apart from the team, the other agents on this floor hadn’t arrived yet, and with it being earlier than normal this wasn’t unexpected. The debriefing room light was on, so I assumed that’s where the team had gone.

Before I decided to join them in the debriefing room, I stopped by my desk, as usual, but there was something _unusual_ that I had found there.

A note.

There was a note on my desk, with a chess piece placed on top of it. It wasn’t in an envelope or anything, it was just folded up with the chess piece placed on top, providing the necessary weight to keep it from unfolding.

My mind automatically went to (Y/n). I mean, who else takes such joy in mocking my chess skills. My headache almost got worse when I looked through the blinds of the bullpen to see her sitting there in the debriefing room. She never joins us on cases, she does paperwork. So, the fact that she was _still_ here wasn’t just weird, but it also made matters worse. After that scene in the file room, she was probably just waiting to jump on her next chance of insulting me. Or maybe history will repeat itself and she’ll just ignore me again on this case. I couldn’t decide which was worse. 

As nauseating as the letter’s presence alone made me feel, I just had to read it. If she was going to go out of her way to insult me with written words than I’d rather get it over with now before she escalates her means.

Opening the letter, I found that the words inside quelled that nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. And I couldn’t help but smile at the contents, which read,

_If you’re reading this, that means you’ve accepted my apology._

Well, I was certainly taken aback. It sure was a welcoming turn of events for such an early morning. I would even go as far as to say that it was cute.

With my stomach now calmed and my headache following suit, I folded the note back up and stuck it into my satchel. I picked up the chess piece that (Y/n) had left on top of the note, carrying it between my fingers as I made my way into the debriefing room. Most everyone was already there, and I felt less appalled about (Y/n)’s presence too. There was an empty seat next to her, so I sat down placing my hands on the table, still cradling the chess piece in one of my palms. I had arranged my hands so that she could see the chess piece hidden beneath them. When she glanced over, her eyes fell down onto my hands, observing the piece that poked through my fingers. She looked up and smiled at this and I returned her smile before sneaking the piece into my pocket, our silent message of truce acknowledged.

“Alright everyone, this one is not looking good.” Garcia said as she entered in through the doors, already beginning to present the case the moment she walked in. The moment she passed out _paper_ files, everyone looked to Hotch for an explanation. 

“We’ve had a break through in the Massachusetts case.” He informed us. That explains why (Y/n)’s here. We’re the ones who are most familiar with most of the files and case history so far. 

“The mafia case?” I could already tell that Morgan was dreading whatever this was going to be.

“Possibly. Right now the local PD wants us to take a look.”

When (Y/n) finally opened the case file to take a look at the photographs, her body froze ever so slightly. You probably wouldn’t have even seen it if you weren’t looking for it. I don’t even know how I saw it. It must have been because I was sitting right next to her.

“(Y/l/n), what’s wrong? You know him?” Huh. I guess Morgan saw it too.

“No. No, I don’t know him.” I wasn’t buying it. Her voice was too distant, and her eyes were glued to the page. That’s not a typical reaction one has over a stranger’s death. Granted, it was a gruesome photo, but we had both seen worse the night before down in the file room. It had to be something else.

I decided not to pry my way in. Things didn’t turn out well the last time I did that, and I wanted to make this truce last as long as possible. I guess (Y/n) did too. She didn’t ignore on this case; she actually treated me kindly, and my anxieties of having to work with her for 3 more months were finally starting to dissipate.

The one odd thing though, is that unlike her first case with us, she didn’t participate as much in the debriefing. She remained mostly quiet on the jet ride to the precinct. Sure she was still her bubbly self and talked with all the other agents, but she had little to contribute to the working profile this time. But again, I wasn’t going to pry.

When we finally landed and got to the police station, Hotch assigned us all our regular duties, mine being geographical profiling, while (Y/n) was instructed to shadow me this time. But, we were also assigned the task of going over whatever case files the local precinct had relating to the case, so we had twice the work we would have had from a normal case. And there were a decent amount of files that these guys kept.

We took turns, alternating between reading the new files and sorting through the relevant ones. This was going to be a long case. By the time the day came to an end, we were no closer to catching our Unsub, but we were all beat, so we turned in for the night, deciding instead to start early the next morning.

When I got back to my hotel room, no matter how much I willed myself to go to sleep, my eyes just kept staring at the box of case files I had brought back with me. I thought I’d want to continue looking over them, but they were just a mess of files at this point. A pile of papers, whose words blurred into nothingness the longer I stared at them. There were a lot of cases that we still had to go over, and I didn’t have the mental alertness to sort through all of them by myself. So, I got out of bed, stacked up all the files, placed them back into one of the storage boxes, and grabbed my room key before heading down the hall to (Y/n)’s room.

———————————

After a long day of analyzing useless files with Reid, I wanted nothing more than to just get one night’s of a good rest, and I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel room. But when I got there, what I saw nearly scared me half to death.

Someone was sitting on my bed.

I instinctively went for my gun, but when I heard his voice, my nerves calmed down.

“Wow, a bullet in the face huh? Is that the kind of welcome I get?” I turned on the lights to see that it was just my idiot partner from my last assignment.

“Alexi! You scared me!” I lowered my gun and shut the door behind me before saying anything else.

“Still no welcome then, huh?”

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Most of the other agents were staying on this same floor, so I tried to keep my voice down incase these walls weren’t soundproof, but Alexi didn’t take the hint, and kept talking as his normal volume. He’s one of those people who has a loud voice but is somehow oblivious to just how loud it is.

“I keep tabs on you. You know, for a spy, you’re not that hard to track. At least, not for me.”

“How comforting. Why are you here? I’m supposed to be working solo.”

“What are you working on exactly?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Bullshit, we’re supposed to be partners, remember? Solo or not. Are you here because of that murder from last week?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I was told to look into it. Guess you don’t have to be solo for a while.” _Alexi_ was told to look into it? _Him_ of all people? I suppose stranger things have happened, but I was still shocked. What were the odds of our assignments crossing paths like this? As strange as his presence seemed, I decided against kicking him out.

We turned the television on so there would be some background noise to drown out our conversation. Grabbing the already half drunken bottle of alcohol that Alexi had opened when he invaded my room, we sat down and talked over his assignment while I kept the details of mine to myself. The longer he stayed, the more I realized how thankful I was that he was here. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a familiar face, and it was comforting to know that I could talk to him about _this_ case at least. 

We each exchanged whatever information we had about the murders, but everything he had the BAU already knew. He was in the middle of asking about what information I had on the matter before we got interrupted. I heard a door close shut down the hall, and I thought nothing of it at first. It was the sound that followed that I paid closer attention to.

“Shhhh… someone’s coming.” I could distinctly hear footsteps coming from the hallway, and they were getting louder. My room was at the far end of the hallway, isolated away from the rest of the rooms on this floor. So there would be no reason for anyone to walk down this side of the hall, let alone this late at night.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you can hear –“

His sentence was cut short by a knock on the door, and I shot him an ‘I told you so’ glare. We crouched down in the corner near the closet door and fell dead silent to see if whoever it was would go away. But they knocked again. “(Y/n) it’s me, Reid.”

Well fucking fantastic. This could _not_ get any worse. I’d almost prefer it to have been another Vory member than him. What was Reid doing knocking on my door at this hour?

“Who is that?” Even Alexi’s whispers were loud, but at least he had the common sense to whisper now.

“One of my coworkers,” I got up from our hiding spot and pulled up Alexi by the arm, “You need to leave, _now_.”

“Coworkers, huh? Does he have to do with your assign-“

“Shhh!” Honestly, Alexi was probably the stupidest member in the entire Bratva. I’ll never know how he secured a rank as spy. I had to cover his mouth with my hand to prevent him from saying anything else. “Shut up or he’ll hear you!”

He pulled my hand way from his mouth, and finally brought his voice down to an acceptable volume. “Doubtful. Not everyone has ears like yours.”

There was no way I was going to let Alexi hide out in my hotel room while Spencer Reid was here waiting by the door. He had to leave. Now. “Which way did you come in?”

Without saying a word, he tilted his head towards the door. “You’re joking right?” Well, this just got worse. I thought he at least used the window or something.

I was starting to get fed up with his carelessness. I don’t care if he’s working on an assignment, it doesn’t mean he can just come here and louse mine up in the process. He knew I was frustrated, and it didn’t help that he took it all as a playful joke.

“Don’t worry, I can still leave the same way. Here.” The smirk he gave me should have told me that he was up to something. He started to ruffle his hands through his hair, giving himself the illusion of a messy bedhead. I didn’t get what his plan was until he untucked parts of his shirt from the waist of his pants, and loosened the collar of his shirt. Once he was satisfied with his disheveled appearance, he turned to me, reaching over to mess up my hair too. This was not the type of cover story I needed.

“Stop it! I don’t need a cover.” I shoved him off and tried to fix whatever parts of my appearance Alexi messed up as best I could before going to open the door.

———————————

_**Spencer’s POV** _

When the door finally opened, I almost thought I had the wrong room. Instead of (Y/n), I was greeted by a man that I’d never seen before. And judging by his appearance, he looked to be in the middle of… something. Which is why I was surprised when he opened the door wider, because I could see (Y/n) standing in the back behind him, with a similarly disordered appearance, and my eyes went wide with realization.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I was just leaving.” The man shoved his way through the door, and past me on his way out. Before leaving, he turned back towards (Y/n) with a smirk on his face, “Hey, I’ll be in touch. You know how to contact me.”

The nausea from a couple days ago was back. My eyes followed him down the hall as he left, before my head snapped back to (Y/n). Her face was blushing and I couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or from… him.

“Hi Reid.”

“Hi… I just uh… I couldn’t sleep and I uh, thought maybe we could go over some more files?” I lifted the box of files I had with me as if to show proof of the reason why I was here. I couldn’t even begin to describe the amount of awkwardness that was present in this hallway.

“Sure, come in.”

It was even more awkward once I was in her room. It felt like I was still intruding on something. And to make matters worse, the profiler in me just wouldn’t shut up. I could guess at what happened just by taking one look around the room. 

There was a bottle of vodka open, and it was clearly drunken by more than one person, which could explain her flushed complexion. But still, her hair was tousled, just like his, and there was a dent on the side of the bed where someone was clearly sitting. They left the television on, probably to cover up the noise. Wait. Does that mean she’s…loud? Or…

“Reid.” 

“Hmm?”

“Should we get started?”

“Yeah. Um, where should we do it? The files. I mean the files. Where did you want to go over them?” _Smooth_. It’s situations like these that I wish I could better control the barrier between my brain and my mouth.

“The bed or the table is fine.” The bed is _not_ fine.

“Table. Table’s good.” I answered a little too quickly, and the awkwardness kept getting more apparent every time I opened my mouth.

Ignoring the elephant in the room, which wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, we sat down, and began to read over more case files. Or at least she was reading over case files. My mind was doing anything but. I couldn’t get my brain to shut up about what it was I had walked in on, and I could not stop think about it for the life of me. Every now and then, I’d glance up at her and she’d be reading over the files like normal. Like nothing happened. _How?_ I just couldn’t ignore it for some reason. I mean, when I walked in I could see that her clothes weren’t wrinkled, but his were. So maybe she was…

You know what? I’d rather not know. _Just stick to the case files._ The files.

The files.

I tried. I tried to focus on reading. I tired forcing myself to focus on the pages, repeating the words in front of me over and over in my head, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t stand not knowing who that was from earlier. It wasn’t the tryst, per se, that bothered me, it was just… the parties involved. And I don’t know why it was bothering me, it just was. 

“Who was that earlier?” 

The room had been quiet up to this point, and my voice almost seemed unwelcome. Her body language didn’t change when I had spoken, and I wondered if I was starting to cross a line. The last thing I wanted to do was break our truce, and the longer she stayed silent, the more I regretted asking in the first place. 

“Just a friend.” I found that I was even more bothered by the fact that she felt like she had to lie to me. I’m a profiler, she knows that. How naïve did she think I was?

“A friend this late at night? Come on (Y/n), I’m not stupid.”

“Well you’re here and it’s even later, so…“ _What?_

...What was she implying? Was she implying something, or was I just reading into it?

You know, they say that if you stay awake for an extended amount of time, your body will begin to enter into what are known as ‘micro-sleeps’, which are short periods of time that your brain shuts down like it would when you’re sleeping. Except, when this happens, you’re usually not aware of its occurrence. That must have been what just happened. Or at least that’s what I told myself, because I just couldn’t comprehend what she meant by that last comment. 

We both stayed quiet after that, keeping to ourselves while we read over the files for the rest of the night, with our friend Awkwardness sitting in the chair between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 6 to be posted soon :)  
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


	6. Markers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to post, midterms got in the way. This part is a bit shorter.

_**Spencer’s POV** _

When I woke up, there was paper stuck to my face. I pulled it off and skimmed it over, recognizing it as a page from one of the case files from last night. I must have fallen asleep on the files. (Y/n)’s room. _That’s_ where I was. I thought it looked a bit different than my hotel room. 

(Y/n) wasn’t here, she probably got an early start to the day. But, there was a cup of coffee next to me on the table, and scribbled on top of the lid was a poorly drawn rook, which told me the coffee was from her. And it was thankfully still warm. 

Yeup, she definitely got an early start if she had time to get me coffee. I thought maybe Hotch probably wanted us in the office as soon as we woke up, but I had no messages on my phone from him, nor anyone else on the team. Either way, I had clearly overslept, so I started gathering up the files, throwing them sloppily into the box I had brought them over in, and grabbed my coffee before letting myself out. 

My room was only down the hall, so I figured I had enough time to at least change clothes before heading back to the precinct. But, apparently, I had miscalculated just how much I had over slept, and I ran into Morgan in the hallway. He was already on his way out, which is probably why he was confused as to why I was heading in the other direction. 

“Late night, Pretty Boy?” 

I nodded, hoping that would suffice as an answer for a question that was just supposed to be asked in passing.

“You do know that the elevator’s that way, right Reid?”

“I know, I just have to grab a few things first.” I stacked my coffee cup on top of the box of files while I fished for my room key from my pocket. Apparently, Morgan was set on starting up a full integration right there in the hallway. 

“Wait, if this is your room, then who’s room were you in just now?” Oh man, he saw that? He saw me leave? I thought he had _just_ came out of his own room.

“I uh, I was in Hotch’s room.” I lied. I don’t know why I did, or why I felt the sudden need to do so, but I did. Morgan, of course, could see right through me, so I had to elaborate. Might as well as try to sell a convincing lie if I’m going to bothering lying to him in the first place. “He uh, wanted to... we went over case files last night, and we just finished up with them now, he’s getting ready to head to the precinct now, which is why I left. So I could also get ready myself.”

“Hotch just phoned me five minutes ago, he’s already at the precinct.” _Fuck._ I couldn’t think of an answer to save myself fast enough, and my hand had gotten stuck in my stupid pocket when I tried to pull my keys out. I had almost toppled over my coffee while trying to free it.

I couldn’t unlock the door and retreat inside my hotel room fast enough to avoid the conversation. It’s already been more than a couple of moments, and I still haven’t said anything. _Think!_

“You know what Reid, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” _Thank goodness,_ I could finally breath again. As soon as I got my door open, he turned around and headed back down the hall to the elevator, calling out, “I can just find out on my own if you don’t.” He was probably smiling while he said that. And I hated that. 

———————————

When I got to the station, I started going over the map Reid was working on until everyone else had arrived. My attention was pulled away briefly when I heard Reid approaching. The familiar sound of his footsteps told me he was carrying that same box of files from last night.

Before he even had the chance to sit down, Hotch walked in, informing us that there was another body and that we were to put the case files aside for now until we worked out the rest of the geographical profile. So, Reid set the box of case files on one of the sofas in the corner of the room before walking up to join me at the whiteboard. 

“Morning.” I would’ve been more friendly if I wasn’t so focused on trying to decipher his markings on the map. Even more so if I’d gotten more sleep. He returned the greeting and thanked me for the coffee, but he sounded a little annoyed himself. I don’t blame him, he was probably sleep deprived too. Well, at least he had gotten at least some sleep last night. That’s more than what I could say for myself.

Even though he had gotten more sleep than me, he seemed off-set about something else, and I had just chalked it up to lack of sleep at first. But, once he started analyzing all the new markings I had made on the map, I began to think whatever was bothering him ran a bit deeper than just not getting enough sleep. 

“W-what are you doing?” I uncapped another marker, about to continue marking up the map, but he was so against it I almost thought he was going to grab my hand and yank it as far away from the map as possible. 

“...I’m going over the profile?”

“What’s with all the blue?”

“Well, this was the new dump site that the body was found at this morning, so I was marking the radius of possible -”

“That’s what the pins are for, not the markers!”

“I thought the pins were for places that the victims were seen at...”

“What? No! They have never been used for that. Just... here...give me the marker. I’ll restart on a new map.” He grabbed the marker from my hand, and grabbed all the other markers with him, keeping them away from my reach, while he began to set up a new map on the table. He dumped all the markers on the table, and went to go find a new blank map to use, so I thought I’d lend him a hand since Morgan had already told me where the most recent body was found. 

“Oh okay. I’ll help you with that.”

“There’s no need, I remember what it looked like before you ruined it.” Okay, whatever was bothering had to be something else other than just ‘not enough sleep’. There’s no way he gets this upset over a stupid marker unless something else is wrong. 

“Sorry Reid, I was just trying to help.” 

“Okay, then help by reading over the files. That’s what you were hired for.” He slammed the conference room door on his way out. I knew that he wasn’t the confrontational type and all, so I decided to just leave whatever brought on this new found phase of pettiness alone for now. He’d tell me if he wanted to. Truthfully, I’d rather not know, it was probably something childish again anyways. In the meantime, I went back to working on the old ‘ruined’ map. 

When Reid finally got back, I tried to stay out of his way. We both worked on our own maps. Not a very bright idea, if you ask me. Things like this would go along much faster having a partner to bounce ideas off of, and all that. But I didn’t want to accidentally set Reid off again. God forbid, that I use a red marker instead of a blue one or something like that. I mean, we _were_ working on separate maps, but still. I didn’t want to tick him off again. 

This geographical profiling stuff wasn’t my strong suit, so I would glance back to his map every now and then just to see what developments he had made. The only thing was that he had so many different colors, and pins and post-its that I had no idea what each one represented. I did my best to guess, and I think I had gotten it pretty close because by the time that everyone came back to the precinct, my map looked like a close contender to his, just not as colorful. 

I was a bit worried about what Hotch would say about us working on separate maps, but Reid seemed to address that concern as soon as Hotch stepped in the room, saying that we were trying to get different perspectives. I think some of the other agents, especially Morgan, knew that the whole ‘perspective thing’ was total bullshit, and it didn’t help that Reid actively tried to avoid me during the debriefing, but Hotch bought it, so it didn’t matter. 

Once everyone took their seats, we started going over the profile.

**\--------------**

_**Spencer’s POV** _

When Morgan and Rossi made it back from the crime scene around noon we were able to go over the new developments in the profile right away. We didn’t have to wait for JJ to finish up this time since the victim had no family in the area that we had to alert. This wasn’t as typical with lower ranking Bratva members as it was with Vory members, so there was a strong possibility that this victim was a Vory member, which meant that we were in-fact dealing with the same Unsub. 

Rossi had informed us that there was a slight difference in the M.O. with this victim this time around. We had called Garcia so she could get us access to the crime scene photos before they were fully processed. 

Apart from the minor shift in M.O., the pictures were strikingly similar to those from the Massachusetts case. Another body, surrounded by pools of blood, with the tattoo on his arm on display. There was no doubt that this was the same Unsub. 

The change in M.O. wasn’t evident at first. You had to really be looking for it, and with how much blood there was, I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone were to overlook it, but Rossi was able to catch it. 

It was on the victim’s wrists. There were superficial red markings all the way around the wrists. Definitely not deep enough to have been the source where the blood came from. But deep enough to suggest that something was digging into his skin for a prolonged period of time. I pointed this out to the team.

“Guys, look. The marks around his wrists. He was probably handcuffed to something and tried to escape.” The rest of the team leaned in to get a closer look at the photos on the screen that we’d used to talk to Garcia just minutes prior. 

“…No. No, cuffs wouldn’t do that.“

“What do you mean, (Y/l/n)?”

“Well, look at the marks. They don’t look like the defined marks that handcuffs would leave. They look more like they were caused by friction burns. Like rope. And judging by the angle… it looks like he was trying to twist his wrists inwards to see if the rope would have any give to it.” 

She paused briefly to give us a demonstration with her hands, twisting them inwards before continuing, “You know, so he could slip out of it. If you’re trying to escape cuffs, you wouldn’t be twisting your wrists inwards. Metal has no give to it.”

I thought it strange that she assumed the victim was tied with his hands in front of him. Especially if the Unsub was using rope. Wouldn’t that just be easier for the victim to escape? “Why are you assuming that his hands were tied in the front and not behind his back?”

She looked at me like she was surprised I’d even ask. Like there was some unspoken radio silence between us that I’d finally broken. It wasn’t that I was upset with her, I was just… I don’t know. I was upset that this case was taking so long to figure out and that there were still so many case files we had to go over. And that whole ordeal with Morgan in the hallway earlier just upset me even more. Just for _one day_ , I would like for everyone on this team to stop sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong. 

“Well, if his hands were tied behind him, he wouldn’t have been able to twist his wrists like that. You wouldn’t have enough control over your arms to be able to move like that, unless you’re extremely flexible, which I doubt he was.”

“Do you play with rope in your spare time, (Y/l/n)? You’re starting to sound like Reid over here.” Emily teased her. 

“If Reid’s so familiar with rope he would’ve recognized the burn patterns. There’s some things that books can’t teach you.” What the fuck does that mean? If she didn’t learn it from books, then where the fuck did she learn this from? 

_Experience_. That’s it. She’s talking about experience. Experience with what though? She doesn’t strike me as someone who would dabble in BDSM. So, apart from the blatant insult guided towards me, what else was she implying? 

No, it had to be that. What other situation would you be tied up in? Unless, she wasn’t the one being tied up... If she was referring to bondage, then there’s no way she would be a Dom. There’s practically nothing else that she could be referring to, and I just wasted the last few minutes thinking about (Y/n) and BDSM instead of focusing my attention on the case. Great. 

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who got side tracked. (Y/n) also caught JJ’s and Morgan’s attention with this statement, but before the endless teasing could ensue any further, Hotch guided the team’s focus back to the more pressing matters at hand. 

“Did we get the M.E. report back yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, well then, assuming (Y/l/n) is right, what does that tell us?” 

“Nothing new really. He’s controlled, meticulous to detail, which was already evident from the previous murders in the way the blood was cleaned to reveal the tattoos. The only difference here is the change in M.O., with the addition of the rope now. So, obviously the rope serves a specific purpose…..”

After I finished my spiel, the rest of the team waited for (Y/n) to see if she would have anything more to contribute. Waiting to see if she would be able to explain what type of purposes or scenarios would require the use of rope in the way it had been used here. I doubt any of the scenarios she was familiar with would be the case that this victim had found himself in. 

She seemed oblivious to the rest of the team's gazes, she was so fixated on the photographs. When she noticed the silence, she looked up, and realized what everyone’s gazes were asking.

“I’ve never used rope for anything like that.” she answered, almost defensively. 

“Really, so what have you used it for then?” This time it was Morgan who led the teasing. Emily and Rossi were exchanging knowing looks with each other over her shoulder, and this time (Y/n) wasn’t unfazed by the attention.

“Maybe come over one night and I’ll show you.” 

_Oh dear God._ If it wasn’t for her deadpan expression, I would’ve thought she was serious. I cannot think about this now, of all times. _Please_ , just someone say something to turn this conversation in a different direction. There were too many implications in just one conversation for my brain to handle, and my thoughts were threatening to go haywire. 

Before anyone else could say anything, Garcia interrupted just in time. Her image popped up on the screen again, and her voice filled the room with one of her ever cheery greetings. Perhaps for the first time in my life was I actually grateful for technology. 

“Hey Baby Girl, We’re going to need you to do a broad search for us in a minute.” 

Because everything was on paper for this case, Garcia wasn’t able to do any cross-reference searches, so we had to refine our suspect pool ourselves. Yet another reason why this case was taking so long to work out. 

Last night, (Y/n) and I had drawn up a general list of possible persons that would fit the profile we had so far. But, we weren't able to track any down. The list was just a guideline, we didn’t have any exact names. I read off one of our more specific conditions to Garcia with the hopes that some relevant information would come of it. 

“Garcia, local Bratva members would have a front set up as a guise to hide their real operations behind the scenes. Check for local bars, clubs, restaurants, maybe even tattoo parlors, or any stores that would have a generous amount of square footage allotted for stockrooms. Perhaps even a basement.” 

“Huh, okay Boy Wonder, nothing like that so far. Buildings there in Massachusetts are pretty closely packed. But… there _is_ a bar not far from where you are, with an upstairs room above it. ...Looks like it’s owned by… Peter Leonov. I’ve sent you his picture.” 

When our phones dinged with the picture, we all stopped to take a look. Our profile had little to go off of given how complex this case was, and he looked older than what any of us expected, but his name was Russian, so there was at least something. He was probably only the name holder of the property deed, or maybe he was ex-Bratva himself and had still had ties to younger, active members. Either way, we needed to talk to him; he was our only lead thus far. 

“Garcia, can you send us the address?” 

“Done and done.”

Once again, everyone looked to Hotch for the definitive decision. “(Y/n), you and Reid know the most about this Unsub, so you’ll be joining us in the field on this one. Think you can handle it?”

“Yes, sir.” She replied tersely.

“Are you certified?” This time, she answered by moving her blazer to the side, revealing a shoulder holster, keeping what looked like a Glock-19 securely hidden. Standard issue. I didn’t even know she was carrying. JJ hadn’t originally carried a gun while she was liaison; she only carried when we went out in the field. And there was no way (Y/n) knew that she’d be going out in the field today, let alone ever. Her job detail was supposed to be solely desk-centered. So, why was she carrying? More importantly, how was Hotch okay with letting her go out in the field? I mean, here she was only within the first month of the job, going out into the field with practically zero experience.

“Good. Either he’s our Unsub, or he’ll be able to lead us to him. Let’s go.” With Hotch’s final say, we got our vests on and headed out.

Based on the floor plans I had looked at on the drive over, the building seemed like a decent front. There was plenty of room on the upstairs floor for someone to be running a back operation from. Given the Bratva’s past history, it was most likely some type of drug smuggling operation or money laundering scheme. We hadn’t found a connection between the murders and any possible covert operations yet, but it was more than likely that at least one existed. Perhaps even several. 

Upon arrival, the building looked a bit different than what I had pictured when envisioning the floor plans. The place Garcia had sent us to was a local dive bar, but oddly enough no one was here, the lights were completely off. This was strange in itself, so we proceeded with caution. 

Me and (Y/n) ended up riding in different vans, but when we got there we doubled back up. We took the back entrance while Emily and Morgan took the front entrance. 

It was so dark that it was hard to clear the rooms upon entrance, so we all maintained quiet demeanors until we were able to search the whole premise. I scanned the main room while (Y/n) took the upstairs, and Derek and Emily searched the back rooms. The main storefront was clear. Bathroom, clear. Stock room, clear. Upstairs...

_Upstairs_.

(Y/n) was the only one who hadn’t called out yet. 

I wouldn’t have been as concerned since she had more floor to cover and it was dark, but I could hear feet shuffling up above. I turned around, trying to navigate in the dark, so that I could find my way to the stairs. 

The place was so dark it was hard to make out what was going on, but I heard a body fall and hit the ground, and I immediately started rushing up the stairs to see what had happened. What I heard next froze me completely still on the middle of the stairway. 

I heard a gun firing. 

_Shit._

The adrenaline was starting to cloud my vision, and the stairs began to morph into just one big slope. I was afraid I was going to lose my balance, so I ran up the rest of the distance of the stairs before risking any chance I had of falling back down. 

When I got to the top, the door was open, but it was dark.

All I could tell was that there was only one person left standing.


	7. One Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter because the next one is a LOT. Also, I know It’s been a WHILE, so expect several parts to be uploaded soon. Hopefully that makes up for the hiatus :) 
> 
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts

The team was able to trace our suspect down, to this supposedly cheap, dinner-turned-bar. Garcia gave us all the address, and we got ready to leave. When everyone else was strapping on their vests, that’s when it hit me. 

If this suspect was actually connected to the Vory like Garcia informed us, then I was going to have to play this smart. There was a high likelihood that this could turn bad real quick. On the other hand, I had never heard of the guy until now, so there was still a good chance that he didn’t know who I was. Or, at least he wouldn’t be able to connect my face to my name. 

There were two ways which this could play out. Either I had to get to him first, or I’d have to stay out of sight until the rest of the Feds were able to handle everything. There was also a third possibility in which he did in fact recognize me, and then my cover would be blown, but I wasn’t about to let that be an option. 

When we got to the place Garcia sent us to, we all dispersed throughout the building to search the premise for our suspect. I went to search the upstairs, while Reid covered the downstairs along with the other agents. 

The top of the stairs lead to a hallway, which only had a few doors, one of which was opened slightly, and I could see the light from that room seeping into the hallway. I didn’t even bother checking the other doors, which in retrospect I realize was stupid, but they turned out to just be closets anyways. 

As I slowly approached the door, I angled my body to the side so that I would be a narrower target to hit incase the suspect were to come barging out before I even had the chance to open the door. I heard movement for sure, but nothing that suggested anxiety, like hurried movements. 

He didn’t know we were here yet.

Or if he did, he was playing it out very casually, which was never a good sign. It usually means that they have something else up their sleeve. That was unlikely in this case. The door wasn’t opened far enough for me to see anything, so I had to rely entirely on sound and instinct this time. I turned my ear closer to the crack in the door, to see if I could hear anything more specific. I listened for what felt like forever, but the shuffling noise I had heard earlier seemed to have stilled.

Bracing myself, I cocked my gun and opened the door. The only thing was, when the door had opened enough for me to see inside the room, I couldn’t have been more blindsided by what I saw.

There were two people, one of which was on the floor, already dead. Our suspect. The other, who was still very much alive, turned around the second he caught sight of my shadow. The barrels of both our guns greeted each other in a split second.

It took me less than a second before I realized who it was, and all the uneasiness I was feeling was instantly replaced with frustration. 

“Alexi!”

“(Y/n). We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” We both lowered our guns, and I stepped over the dead body, getting closer to him so that he’d be able to hear me at a whisper.

“There are Feds downstairs!” I said that a bit louder than I intended to.

“Well, shit. Maybe warn me next time you bring your play mates along, huh?”

I looked around the room, finally paying attention to the corpse that was on the floor. “Did you… he was our suspect!” I said, finally piecing together why he was here.

“Hey! He was my target too. You’re welcome, by the way. The moment he saw you in front of those other agents, he would’ve blown your cover.”

As much as I hate to admit it, the idiot was probably right. Even if I still didn’t recognize him, the eight-pointed star tattoo on his upper right arm was a distinct Vory mark. What concerned me more at the moment, however, was the fact that Alexi had just gotten himself tied up in an active FBI investigation. That would have been bad enough, but this was a BAU case, so it was exceptionally worse. It also didn’t help that the other BAU members were downstairs at this very moment. 

“Alexi, do you realize what you’ve just done! Even if you leave now, the Feds are going to connect you to this!”

“Okay, okay, Calm down. I’ll leave now. You distract them long enough to buy me a head start.” He got ready to start heading out the window. It was completely closed, so I assumed he had entered through the front door before we even got here. We hadn’t even heard any gunshots when we arrived. He must have been here a while. 

The fact that he was still here was actually surprising. Usually on assassination missions, we’re instructed to leave right away. If he stayed then there was a reason. He must have been looking for something. I’d have to ask him about it later. Right now there were morse pressing matters. 

“What?! No! I’m not about to start a shoot-out with a bunch of Feds! Look. I have an idea, here.” 

I unholstered my gun again, and extended it out to him, but he didn’t seem to get the message. “Give me your gun.” He looked just as confused, so I elaborated further. “You’ve already killed him with yours so we have to swap guns if I’m going to cover for you.”

Smiling, he stepped forward, and handed me his gun. “See (Y/n), I knew you’d come up with something.” Once we exchanged guns, he tried to get out of there as fast as possible, but I realized that there was one flaw in my plan. I couldn’t just shoot a suspect without cause. I’d need a reason.

“Hold on, Feds don’t shoot people without reason.”

“So, tell them there was a struggle. You know, shuffle things up a bit.” He motioned his arms towards all the junk around the room, which already looked searched through so there wouldn’t be much ‘shuffling’ that’d I have to do. 

I turned to Alexi, grabbing his arm just as he was about to go out the window, “Wait! I need you to punch me.”

“What for?” If it was anyone else, he probably would have been laughing from the idiocy of the request. But, me and Alexi have done much more ludicrous things for each other for the sake of preserving our covers. 

“If there’s supposed to be a struggle, it needs to look like one, right?”

He reluctantly stepped away from the window, and removed his ring - which I was grateful for - before taking his stance. I turned my face to him, offering up my cheek, but his blow landed a bit lower than I thought it would, and I was not prepared for that. I turned my face to him for a reason, and he couldn’t even hit the proper target. Idiot. 

His knuckles landed right across my jawline, sending me stumbling back, and I ended up tripping over the victim’s foot, falling flat on the floor. I suppose that’s what I get for assuming that Alexi doesn’t need instructions even for the most simplest of things. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to do it that hard.”

“No, that’s good.” I said through gritted teeth. I could definitely taste blood. He helped me stand back up, and I could still feel the sting of his punch across the bottom of my lip. Once I regained my footing, I tried to get him out of there as fast as I could, especially since I heard footsteps walking up the stairs.

“Go! Hurry, I hear one of them coming.” He scrambled over the window, while I loaded his gun. As he climbed his way out, he held the shutters open and stepped to the side, allowing me a clear line of shot.

I pulled the trigger, aiming out the window, towards the sky, and awaited the inevitable.

\------------------

**_Spencer’s POV_ **

When I’d gotten upstairs, I saw (Y/n) standing with her gun drawn, pointed down towards the suspect’s lifeless body on the floor. I re-holstered my gun, and stepped over to the body, checking for a pulse. Nothing. Turning to (Y/n) I saw a trail of blood trickling from her face and down onto her neck. 

“Are you okay?” I rushed over to her, turning her face to the side to inspect the wound. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She winced, blocking her eyes from the flashlight on my gun. She began tucking her gun away as well, and I called for a medic over the radio, and informed the rest of the team that our suspect, and only lead, had been fatally shot. 

I guided (Y/n) down the stairs and outside to the SUVs where the rest of the team was waiting. It wasn’t long before the paramedics and the CSI unit arrived. The medics gave (Y/n) a once-over, checking for any signs of a concussion, while the evidence technicians went upstairs to bag the corpse to take to the coroner’s office. 

Once most of everything had been taken care of and accounted for, Hotch walked over to where (Y/n) was sitting on the back of the ambulance. “(Y/l/n), when we get back to the station, we’re going to need you to make an official report as to what happened. You feeling up to it?” 

“Sure thing, Hotch.”

Once the evidence technicians had gotten the corpse ready for transport, we all piled into our SUVs and drove back to the station, where (Y/n) was given a form to fill out so that she could give her official statement. After that, we stayed behind to finish up the rest of the red tape paper work, filling out various forms and finishing up the profile. There was a chance that the guy (Y/n) shot wasn’t our unsub, and because of that, we still had a few knots to work out in our profile. 

Once (Y/n) finished her reports, she joined the rest of us in the conference room. We were already in the middle of going over the profile again, so she took her jacket and gun holster off, set them aside, and took a seat at the table, with an ice pack in hand.

We hashed out every possible detail pertaining to the information we had. Assuming that the Unsub was still out there, we had to adjust our profile slightly, and those slight adjustments are what took us so long to figure out. By the time we were finished for the night, everyone was exhausted. 

Per Hotch’s orders, we all packed up to rest for the night so we could deliver the profile in the morning and then head back to Virginia. (Y/n) turned to grab her coat and holster and that’s when I noticed it.

I went to grab my satchel and when I slung it over my shoulder, I saw that the gun she was carrying now was different. “You have two guns?” 

“No?” At the time, I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I only asked her about it because I was curious. It was her general reaction to my question that set me on edge.

“That’s a Glock-18. You had a 19 before.” The expression on her face changed ever so slightly to something that I couldn’t read. I could've sworn I saw her entire body freeze for a millisecond, but she recovered so quickly, I questioned whether or not she even did so to begin with. 

“….No, I’ve always had this one. You must’ve gotten them confused.” She shrugged off the conversation, and put her jacket on, concealing the gun from my sight. She rearranged her hair, pulling it out from the collar of the jacket, and left before I even had the chance to say anything else. 

Clearly she was lying. That was odd in itself. Why lie about having two guns? Most Federal Agents carry two guns. Even Hotch carries two. So that fact that she would feel the need to lie about that, of all things, was strange. 

Furthermore, I never get anything confused. The fact that she would suggest so was entirely asinine. I supposed that was another thing about the whole ordeal that bothered me. 

But, it was mainly just the fact that (y/n) was being extremely dismissive. Granted, she was probably just tired like the rest of us. Her probably more so than anyone else, considering the fact that she took a pretty harsh blow to the face. But, her reaction? The way she froze when I mentioned her gun? The fact that she outright lied about it? There must have been something else that she was masking. 

I decided that I would have to look at this objectively. Now, I knew that she had a Glock-18 before, because I was surprised to even see that she had a gun to begin with. That’s why I remembered it. But something was just so… off putting... about that entire conversation we just had. Her reaction, the fact she lied, why she left so quickly, it was all strange. And I wanted to know why. 

Before returning back to the hotel, I went down to the coroner's office. I wanted to see if the ballistics report would match my suspicions. 


	8. Two Shells

**Spencer’s POV**

“Do you even know what time it is?” I had gone directly to the M.E.’s office after I left the police station. I wasn’t even surprised that the M.E. was still there, considering the fact that I didn’t even realize what time it was until he asked me.

“I understand it’s late, but I need to see what the ballistics report says.” 

“Then check in with evidence, not me.” He had just turned off the lights, and gathered his things, which is when I showed up knocking on the door to his office. When he peeked through the blinds, I held up my FBI badge and he opened the door. But now, upon hearing my request, as if I had asked him to move an entire mountain, he was trying to usher me out so that he could lock up and go home. 

“I also wanted to see where the entry wound was.” 

“At this hour? Are you crazy?!” It was questionable. He was all but shoving me out the door at this point. 

“It’s... very important.” 

“Five minutes. And then I’m locking up.” He probably would’ve already been on his way home by now if he didn’t spend so much time trying to get rid of me. I guess he realized that too, because he finally conceded.

He flipped the lights back on, and threw his outer coat back on the rack, and took up his lab coat from the hook beside it. He led me down to the morgue while he put his lab coat on, flipping all the hallway lights back on as we passed them. 

It wasn’t until we had walked about halfway down the hall corridor that I realized that five minutes might not be enough time for me to look over the body. It was a long hallway, and the M.E. had decided to pick up a slow pace, which I feared would be pushing the limits of the time constraints he set for me. 

But, the closer we approached the morgue, the less worried I became about the allotted time, and the more concerned I became about my friendship with (Y/n). What kind of friend was I to have gone behind her back like this? What did that say of me? Aside from the obvious lack of trust I had displayed in her by my recent actions, it probably meant that I was an awful friend. I hadn’t even given her the benefit of a doubt. I just automatically assumed she was hiding something.

The lock to the door clicked open, and next thing I knew was that my curiosity stepped to the forefront of my mind once again, and I was pulled out of my cloud of worry. I trailed behind the M.E. as he walked along the room, looking the walls up and down, trying to find the compartment with the right number label that corresponded to the body I had requested to look at. We stopped in front of one of the lockers, and he double checked the number on it with the list he had in his hands before he concluded that it was in fact the right compartment.

“Number 2135. Here they are.” He opened the compartment and rolled out the body before handing me the autopsy report. “Here’s the file. It has the report on everything. Let me know when you’re done so I can lock up and go home.” 

I flipped through the autopsy report, glancing at the cleaned wound on the victims chest. “It says here that the victim was shot from behind in the shoulder, and the bullet exited right below the heart in the front.” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

Huh. That’s...odd. Forget odd; that’s impossible. If (Y/n) had shot him during the struggle, he would have been facing her. So, the bullet would have had to exit from his back, not his chest. There’s no way….

“Thank you, I have what I need.” I closed the file back up, and handed back to the M.E. on my way out.

“About damn time.” He proceeded to lock up, and pulled the sheet back over the victim, putting the body back in storage. Usually I would have stood outside the morgue’s door and waited for him to put everything back in its place, so that I could ask any remaining questions that I had before finally taking off , but I had left almost immediately. 

There was only one question on my mind this time. And the answer would be in (Y/n)’s police report that Hotch had her write up.

After I left he M.E.’s, I went back to the precinct to read over (Y/n)’s report on the take down. I honestly didn’t know what I was expecting. There were no surprises there. She had written everything out clearly, and she described the events in just the way I had originally thought they would’ve happened. Plain and ordinary. 

Entirely predictable. 

The only thing was, the body told a different story than what her words did. What bothered me though was the fact that she mentioned in her report that she shot him in the chest, when clearly the body had an exit wound near the heart. An exit wound. Not an entry wound. Which means, (Y/n) lied in her report. Why though? It didn’t make sense. Why would she lie about how she shot him? 

My mind was already running a million miles a minute before this, now it felt like it was running straight into a brick wall. 

I didn’t sleep that night. 

I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. I probably couldn’t even if I had wanted to. In attempt to try tp make sense of the whole situation, or to at least appease my mind, I went back to the crime scene to re-play all the events out again in my mind.

I hadn’t originally intended on going there, I just needed to take a walk to organize my thoughts. It was already dark out, so I didn’t really know where I was going, and my feet acted on their own accord, and soon enough, I found myself back outside of the building that we had meet our suspect before he was shot. 

Staring up at the building, I pondered on what it was exactly that I was doing there. The fact that I ended up here meant that on some subconscious level, i knew that I needed to go inside and look for answers, despite the fact that every part of my being was telling me to just leave it alone and be a decent friend for once.

I didn’t even know how late out it was, and I was afraid to look at my watch. It was cold out, which meant that the lowest temperature drop of the night had probably already happened, or was in process of happening. Which, in turn meant that it as already well past midnight.

If anything, I thought that I should at least have done something to get out of the breeze. So, shrugging off the cold that was nipping at my shoulders, I finally went inside. 

The scene was now covered in that characteristic yellow police tape. I stepped under the tape, and went upstairs. I found even more tape there, but I pushed past it all the same. Once I found the room where the take down had happened, I looked around. For what, I don’t know. But, I looked nonetheless. I followed every step (Y/n) had described, down to the T. Nothing seemed out of place at first. It was just your average scene, clearly indicative of a struggle. 

I stepped around the scene, and let my mind wander across the entire room. 

Assuming that (Y/n) was hit, and went down, she would have either taken the shot from the floor, or would’ve gotten up just in time to take it standing up. It was a safe assumption since I knew I heard someone hit the floor. The only thing was, whether she was on the ground or standing up when she took the shot, something still didn’t add up. I just couldn’t figure out how (Y/n) had managed to shot him in the back of his shoulder if she was on the ground, and he was coming at her. He would have been facing her when he was shot. 

I looked at my watch at it was already past 3:00 A.M., which was much later than I had thought it was. For the sake of my sanity, I was about to give up on the whole ordeal, and just go back to the hotel.

It was then that something caught the corner of my eye.

I walked towards the window, over to where a shimmering gleam pulled my gaze towards the floor. I bent down to inspect it, and when I picked it up I realized it was a bullet shell. Before I stood back up, a similar gleam drew my attention towards the other side of the wall where a low-rise table did a poor job at concealing the shining object. Laying on the floor to get a better angle, I stuck my hand underneath the table, and pulled out another bullet shell. 

Two shells. Both exactly the same.

From the same gun.

They had to be. It made sense that one shell would be here, but _two_? Why were there two? (Y/n) had fired one shot, which we all had heard during the raid, but where did the second one come from? I didn’t know if its presence was more puzzling or disturbing, to be honest. There was no doubt that they came from the same gun, since they looked identical, and if I had to bet, I’d place my money on the fact that these probably came from a Glock-19, not an 18. 

That was puzzling in itself because I knew I saw (Y/n) with an 18 before. At this point, I was actually beginning to question my sanity. Perhaps the M.E. was right. Maybe I was crazy. Afterall, all the evidence pointed to one specific narrative. 

But I knew what I saw. 

Like I said, I didn’t sleep that night. I ended up heading back to the precinct, with the shells now being housed safely in my coat pockets. I had intended to bring them down to evidence later so that they could be processed, but with the lack of sleep that I was running on, the thought must have fallen out of my mind. And who knows where it went. 

I got to the station at the crack of dawn, which meant I was the only one there. I turned a few of the lights on, and put a fresh pot of coffee on, God knows I needed it. 

While I stood next to the coffee pot, learning against the counter, waiting for it to brew, I tried to rub the exhaustion away from my eyes. I pulled out the two shells from my pocket, and let them roll around in the palms of my hands. At this point, I didn’t even bother trying to put together any more puzzle pieces. I just stared at the shells while the smell of poor coffee filled the precinct. 

If I wasn’t so tired, I probably would have noticed when someone else opened the precinct doors to enter the station. It wasn’t until they walked up to me that my brain registered their presence. 

“What’ve you got there?” Morgan asked as he pulled a coffee mug out onto the counter. 

“Nothing. What are you doing here so early?” I pocketed the bullet shells and pulled out an empty mug for myself.

“I could ask you the same thing.” When he saw that he wasn’t going to get more than a shrug of the shoulders out of me, he continued, “I wanted to get in and get the paperwork over with so we could head home as soon as possible.” 

Once the coffee pot chimed, Morgan pulled out the pot and poured himself a cup. I scooted my cup over to his, and he poured more than enough coffee to balance out all the sugar I had in my cup. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” A raise of the eyebrows and a nod of the head was the only reaction he gave. We both stood by the counter top, drinking our coffee in the peace and quiet of the early morning. Given the day I had, I didn’t have the mental energy to start a conversation, let alone carry one, if one were to start. 

Morgan must have been just as content as I was to abide in the silence because he made no attempts in conversation either. I accounted it towards the case. It was longer than most, and we still had nothing to show for it so far. 

“Reid, you seem irritable.”

“What? I haven’t said anything.”

I looked at him over the rim of my mug, and he set his mug down to the side. What he had to say must have been serious, otherwise he wouldn’t have set down his cup just to talk. By the time he spoke up again, I could no longer hide behind the rim of my coffee cup, because I had already emptied it of its contents. 

“You didn’t have to say anything. I’ve know you long enough by now to tell when something’s up.” 

Well, there goes my peaceful quiet morning. Why did he have to come in early? Morgan never comes in early, and today of all days, had to be the _one time_ when he started to show up ahead of time. I tired to deflect his statement by turning around to refill my mug, but it didn’t work as well as I had hoped it to.

“Reid.”

“Morgan, I’m irritable because I couldn’t sleep. Okay?” 

I could tell he wasn’t buying that answer. But any other attempts he could have made to get me to spill what was supposedly going on were thwarted when someone else entered the station. 

(Y/n).

Great. Since when did everybody suddenly become early birds?

“Hi.” She walked up, and repeated our previous actions, grabbing a cup for herself and filling it with coffee. 

“I’m going to go work on case files. Maybe Hotch will send us home early for once.” Morgan put his cup in the sink next to the coffee pot, and left us alone after that. 

That quiet solitude was back, but it was short lived.

I had seriously begun to contemplate whether or not I should just out right ask (Y/n) about the shells I had found, but she left to join Morgan before I could even get a single word in edgewise.

I at least owe her the benefit of a doubt. I’d give her one chance to explain herself. To explain the shells and her written statement. Otherwise….

I don’t know what I’d do otherwise. I made up my mind not to decide now. I’d wait to see if things would even get that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer, but I figured this was a good place to cut this chapter.
> 
> My Tumblr: Caffeinated-Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting part 2 either tomorrow or the next day.
> 
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


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